Unlikely Heroes: The Fel Orc Veren Redmorning
by SickleYield
Summary: Third in a series about the heroes who may become great, but never famous. Not many will remember Veren Redmorning. Those who do will not soon forget. Rating for strong violence.
1. Prologue

Unlikely Heroes: The Fel Blademaster Veren Redmorning

Introductory Note:

All stories in the Unlikely Heroes collection are set between WCIII and WoW. This set of stories exists because most heroes are only heroic within their own tiny corner of the world, and because in the end, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.

This story concerns Fel Orcs, on whom little information is available, and the old death knights from WCII, whose fate is never explained. For the most part I've treated the Fel like Chaos Orcs, but it's my policy that anything not specifically elaborated or contradicted by Blizzard material may be made up by me. So unless you have specific proof of the point on which we disagree, don't email me. (Not talking to you, Lorok. I know you're generally right.)

Expect this to be longer than previous entries in the series. You need not have read the others, because they are not connected, but if you enjoy this, you might also enjoy them. This will be a trifle more serious, but there will still be humor involved.

A big thank-you goes out to Lorok for consulting assistance on both units and the main plot idea, and to Biniria for always being there to visit new worlds with me.

Prologue

The true beginning of this story occurs long before its first events.

It began on a battlefield near Alterac, when a small and desperate group of Orcs made a hopeless attack on a far superior force. The demon fire already began to die from their veins, and even the greatest frenzy was not enough to save them from the logical result of charging a well-armored and organized foe with a line of screaming berserks.

There is no need to name the clan. Few of its members survived to nightfall, and none lived long in the internment which followed.

But they were not all Orcs. Four or five Ogre magi stood with the battle lines that day. And behind them, hurling their coils of green mana from afar, came three death knights. If the spirits of the Shadow Council who rode the bodies of the Dead of Azeroth knew what was about to happen, perhaps they were as lost in the battle frenzy as their living brethren.

Or perhaps not. It is certain that two fell in battle that day, and their bones were taken joint from joint so that no unrestful necrolyte might return to them. The third, when it came to the last charge, broke and ran.

He traveled fast, for a dead horse needs no rest. By the time the sun began to set, he was well into the mountains that surrounded the bloody plain. If a snarling voice seemed to follow him, he no doubt took it for the sounds of battle ringing in whatever served him for ears.

Then the bony steed he rode put its foot into a hole. He was thrown. When he came back, cursing, to see what had happened, he found the undead creature lamed, its leg broken off above the hoof. The skeleton knight abandoned it, and went on into the mountains on foot. It was dark all around him, and he heard the hearts of beasts beating in the night, but he knew that nothing in the forest was more to be feared than he was.

As it happens, he was wrong.

When the Warlock Gul'dan first sacrificed the necrolytes and gave to them the bodies of dead knights, he took no thought for the previous occupants of those bodies. Human ghosts were not often seen in Lordaeron at that time, and the necrolytes assumed that the spirits of the dead had simply gone on to wherever dead humans generally went.

For the most part, they were right. But all that are dead do not rest. Some spirits require no summoning. And one of the knights of Azeroth was not willing to move on.

For months he drifted bodiless, gnashing in silence as he followed his own unrestful corpse from battlefield to battlefield. Much of what he had been wore away, and left behind only dreadful purpose, and a few shreds of memory more dreadful yet.

And now he struck.

The necrolyte had worn the body for less than a year. The knight had worn it for thirty long years of life. The contest was brief. The thing which rose from the forest floor on Lordaeron was not the same thing which had fallen there.

The knight felt the dark mana crackling in his bones, and took it for his own. And in that moment, Rokhyel the Shadebreaker was born.

Now we come to the present.

The sky was red that day.

The sky was red every day in Outland. It darkened to a deeper maroon at night, and paled to orange in the early morning, but all the light of that place fell in shades of crimson. There were those among the invading Naga and Blood Elves who speculated that its star was dying, fading from the gold of the sun of Azeroth toward its final shrinking. Since the sun of Outland was seldom seen, no one could be sure.

Four old warlocks stood before a frame of bone, mana crackling in the hot air around them. The rough structure was lashed together with what rope they could weave from the tougher fungal growths of the Hellfire Peninsula, and within its borders strange energy already began to stir.

A respectful distance from the warlocks and their work stood other Orcs, red-skinned and clad in gray. Perhaps fifty in number, the group consisted of peons and raiders, grunts and younger warlocks.

In the center of the group, a young Orc with a pair of swords strapped across his back stood and waited. He was no taller than the grunts, and less broad than the raiders, and strapped to his back he carried a scrap of gray fabric on a stick that might possibly be meant to serve as the world's most unimpressive banner.

Magic crackled and leaped from the warlocks to the frame and back again. Then a whirlpool of pale light sprang to life in the center, spinning around a small point of blue. "Go toward… The blue sky!" a warlock said, shouting to be heard over the tortured shriek of the crude structure. "Go _now!_"

The Orcs began to run. One by one, they struck the whirling white, and vanished from Outland.

The young Orc with the banner waited until last. "Are you coming?" he shouted at the warlocks.

"We will follow! Go!"

He turned and leaped without hesitation into the vortex. And, a moment later, the warlocks did follow.

It is well known that a magician of great power can open a path between worlds, a way through the Twisting Nether that is clear enough for others to follow. It was done by the shaman Gul'Dan, and it was done after him by Illidan Stormrage.

But there is a reason why only the greatest have found these paths. While the four warlocks had managed, through their combined efforts, to open the way and hold it for the others, even the four together could not hold the tunnel open and the energies back while they traveled through it themselves.

They were buffeted and torn by the Twisting Nether as they hurtled through. The results were…

Messy.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Veren Redmorning stepped onto the mossy floor of the wood and was almost blinded by the light. He covered his eyes, swearing, as he stumbled away from the portal. A moment later he ran into another body, and reached out to seize a muscular arm.

"Who's that?" he said, even as he recognized the long scar on which his hand had fallen.

"It's me, Chieftain," said the warrior Lev Darksun. "It takes a minute to get used to it. Wait'll you see what the sky looks like here."

"What am I standing on?" The ground felt oddly soft under his thin hide shoes.

"It looks like some kind of plant. There seem to be more of them here than in Outland. I wonder if this really is Kalimdor?"

"The warlocks will have to tell us that," Redmorning said.He risked opening his eyes a fraction, and found himself looking at the scarred red hide of Lev's arm. He looked around at the springy gray-green stuff on which they stood. Tall, straight plants surrounded them, some with stems thicker than an Orc's body.

"Well, we're in some kind of forest, if what I've heard is right," he said. "I suppose there's no way to know whether we've reached Ashenvale."

"Where _are _the warlocks?" Darksun asked.

"They were right behind me," said Redmorning, and turned just in time to see the four warlocks come through the portal.

Well, mostly. At least, there were probably enough parts to make up a good three and a half.

The portal shrank to a pinpoint of light and vanished. Fifty Orcs stood among the first trees they had ever seen, and squinted in the harsh new light at the remains of four old warlocks.

"What happened?" asked a raider. The wolf she rode stood with its eyes firmly shut and ears flattened against its head.

"Whatever it was, it looks permanent to me," Redmorning said. Someone snickered. "We'll bury them here, where the portal was. Raise a mound for each. Then we'll see what we can find for food and shelter. Stay alert. We don't know what kind of enemies we may find here."

The Orcs shook off their paralysis and went to work. It was hardest for the peons, with no helmets to shade their eyes. Veren, likewise helmetless, risked a look at the sky above the clearing. Long branches framed the glaring firmament above.

"Demons," he swore under his breath. "It really _is_ blue."

While the burial went on, Redmorning skirted the edges of the open space, staring between the scarlet-skinned grunts who guarded the edges. Deep shadow lay under the trees, but shafts of the yellow-white light of the new world fell here and there. After a few moments, Lev Darksun paced up beside him.

"Every bloody thing is green here," he said. "We're going to stick out like Naga out of water. How are we going to stalk anything?"

"We'll wait until dusk," Veren said. "Dark is dark, no matter what color the sky is in daylight. Start picking out the grunts with the best night vision, and have Kerd Bladeleaper start on the wolf riders. We'll need some to hunt for us, and some to scout for a real place to stay. This clearing isn't defensible. We need stone at our backs."

Lev glanced around, then moved slightly closer. "You knew at least two of those warlocks," he said.

"I knew them all," Veren said quietly.

"So why the joke?"

"Because we're in a strange place," Veren said. "Fear can kill us before we even know what to be afraid of. There was no time to mourn in Outland, and we can't assume we'll have time here. Not at first."

"You're the Chieftain," Lev said. "I'm gonna go find Bladeleaper. She'll want to get started right away."

The peons seemed to have organized themselves right away, with some digging, some moving the earth, and some collecting bits of warlocks. They were not squeamish. Nothing that lives in Outland is.

As Veren passed them on his continuing circuit, he saw one squat Orc pause on the brink of a new pit.

"Need a hand, here," the peon said. Another peon obediently passed one over. "No, this is a _left _hand. He's only gonna want one of those."

"We got no right ones left," the other peon said with a shrug. "Maybe he can get another one wherever he is."

"I hope they got demons there," the first peon said, accepting the severed limb and placing it carefully in the new grave.

"Why?"

"'Cause _our _warlocks are gonna want something to do," he said.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Author's note: Yes, I know that in WoW Orc women look like porn queens with creature masks on. I also know that no Fel Orcs have been seen to look like this, and the two populations have been separated for some time now. I blame genetic drift._

Night fell only three or four hours after the portal closed. Unfamiliar stars showed against the cloudless black sky, and a thin slice of moon eventually rose. The temperature dropped quickly as the pale sun set, and the Orcs who did not stand guard kept close together for warmth. The peons, with their shaven heads, again found the most difficulty. Veren Redmorning sent them in shifts to dig latrines, so they would have something to do.

Then he sought out the surviving warlocks. He found them standing in a tight group at the center of the clearing, mana fizzling invisibly around them as they tried to use it to keep warm.

"Yes, Chieftain?" said one close to the edge as he saw Veren approach.

"I need to talk to Shel'yin son of Vel'yen," Veren said.

A warlock edged from the left side of the little formation. Most Orcs were taller than Veren. Shel'yin was taller than most Orcs. He towered over Redmorning even more than he did the other warlocks. Redmorning noted that, while he could easily have shoved his way to the warm center of the group, he had not done so.

"How can I help?" Shel'yin asked, politely enough. He seemed subdued, but under the circumstances, it was not surprising.

"You were Nel'hesh's apprentice," Veren said.

"I was," Shel'yin said.

"I need to know whatever he told you about this place," Veren said.

"That will take a long time, Chieftain," the warlock said.

"We've got all night," Veren said. "Walk with me, Warlock."

"I am curious as to why you chose me," Shel'yin said as they began to pace the roughly circular edge of the clearing. "All four had apprentices."

"Nel'hesh was the oldest, and knew the most," Veren said. "I know he saw far, and divined many things. And I think he knew that he, at least, would not survive the journey. I meant no disrespect to him with what I said earlier."

"He would not have taken offense," Shel'yin said, perhaps a little grudgingly. "I, too, believe he expected this. He had my oath before we left."

"What oath was that?"

Shel'yin shrugged broad shoulders. "To serve you. To serve the clan."

"I'm not sure we could be called a clan," Veren said, glancing around at the small group. "Few as we are, the other Fel may never know that we left. I doubt the Stormrage ever will."

"I am not certain of that," Shel'yin said. "The Blood Elves are sensitive to discharges of magic. They will find the frame, unless it was destroyed, and it will not be difficult to guess what it was for. I do not believe they can trace our destination."

"Good," Veren said. "We'll have enough trouble here, if what I've heard is any indication."

"Yes," Shel'yin said. "I believe Nel'hesh was most concerned about the Night Elves."

"And what exactly are Night Elves?"

Shel'yin began to explain. Veren listened with few interruptions. Afterward, Shel'yin began to go into the other races of Azeroth, and what Nel'hesh had known or guessed about them.

"It sounds as if we might find something in common with this Scourge," Veren said. "If they freed themselves from the demons as well."

Shel'yin turned his head sharply, his eyes glowing faintly green in the dark.

"The Lich King controls them," he said. "To their very minds. None of the Scourge can be trusted."

"As far as we are concerned, no one can," Veren said. "Least of all the other Orcs, if what you tell me is true."

"My Master believed they would not accept us," Shel'yin said. "It is doubtful whether we could convince them we are free of Magtheridon's control, since we have not adopted their religion."

"With any luck, we're far to the West of them now," Veren said.

"Luck," Shel'yin said. His tone of voice made it clear what he thought of this idea.

"I see you've absorbed Nel'hesh's cheery optimism," Veren said. "Just a moment, if you would." As they neared the peons, Veren trotted over and gave a few instructions.

"You're letting them start a fire?" Shel'yin said, as the peons began bustling about gathering up dry sticks. "Is that wise, Chieftain?"

"Wiser than letting them freeze," Redmorning said. "If we're going to be attacked, I'd rather everyone was warm enough to move fast. You may be able to burn mana, but they can't. Now. You were saying?"

Shel'yin resumed his grim recounting of all the things on Kalimdor that were likely to want to kill Fel Orcs. The blademaster and the warlock kept walking as the peons built a small fire in the middle of the clearing. From the corner of his eye, Veren saw the warriors who were not on guard begin to edge toward it.

He sighed. _Lev and Kerd are both out scouting, and I don't have time to deal with this._

"You," he said, seizing a passing grunt by the arm. "What's your name?"

"Begrin Hardbouder, Chieftain," the Orc said.

"Hardbounder? You have any relatives in the Shadowmoon?"

"Not any more," Begrin said. "The Draenei got them all a couple months ago. It's why I came."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Veren said. The grunt shrugged. "I want you to do something for me, Hardbounder. I don't want everyone around the fire at once, and I don't want the peons shoved out of the way just because they're smaller. I need a rotation set up."

"I'm just a grunt," Hardbounder said. "Nobody's going to listen to me."

"Yes, they will," Veren said. He reached back and extracted the gray flag from his harness. "Take this. If anyone argues with you, send them to me."

"Yes, Chieftain!" Hardbounder nodded respectfully and turned toward the fire.

"Now," Veren said, turning back to Shel'yin. The warlock stood with folded arms. Like Veren and most of the warriors, he wore no shirt, but unlike most, the cold did not seem to bother him.

Scouts came and went from the edges of the camp as the night wore on. One or two came back with dead animals, rabbits or deer or small birds not entirely unlike the ones on Outland. Brown and white seemed more common colors than red. Peons immediately set to clean and cook them, and Veren was pleased to see that there was no problem with distributing the food. _Perhaps we'll make a clan after all._

The night seemed interminable. Redmorning walked quickly, trying to keep the feeling from leaving his feet as he listened to the warlock speak. The ground felt very cold through his thin shoes, and he had to force himself not to look at the fire.

The sky began to pale at last, and not long afterward Kerd Bladeleaper rode in from the trees. Veren watched her as he walked. She conversed with the other scouts for a while, slouching in the saddle, then urged her wolf over toward Veren and Shel'yin. Like most of her subordinates, she went shirtless.

_It beats me how the Blood Elves ever manage to reproduce, ugly as their women are, _Veren thought, not for the first time. _If I had big lumps of fat on my chest, I'd cover them, too_.

He managed to keep his teeth from chattering as he said,

"You've been gone a long time, Bladeleaper. Anything to report?"

Kerd rubbed her narrow jaw. "I think we found a place to set up camp, Chieftain," she said in a coarse alto. "There's sort of an outcropping sticking up about four miles away. There's a stream close by, and we think there are metals we can mine in the side of the rock. I left Darksun there to keep an eye on it. There's sort of a problem."

Her tone of voice made it clear that "sort of" meant "extremely serious."

"What's the trouble, Kerd?" Veren asked.

"Spiders," the raider said. "Lots and lots of them."

"So?" Veren said patiently. "Just hack down the webs. We'll use them for bandages the first time we run into a real enemy."

"No, Chieftain," Kerd said tiredly. "I mean _big _spiders. There's one bigger than a Fel ravager. The other five are the size of Lightrunner here." She thumped the wolf on the shoulder. "They're sitting all around the mine entrance. There are piles and piles of bones, and web all over the ground. Lev got stuck in it, and I had an exciting couple of minutes cutting him out. One of them was _spitting _at us."

"You didn't say anything about giant spiders," Redmorning said, turning back to Shel'yin. The warlock folded his arms again, looking smugly down on the other two.

"I didn't know about them," he said. "I'm sure there must be plenty of wild animals my Master's divinations never uncovered. We'll probably all be killed and eaten within a month."

"Thank you, Shel'yin," Veren said. "Do your best not to share that belief with the others, will you? At least until after _I _get killed and eaten. Go see if anyone wants to volunteer to come with me."

Shel'yin did not budge. "I'll go," he said. "I'm sure we both will die, but I gave my oath."

"Then see if anyone _else _will come," Veren sighed. "And try to avoid putting it in just those terms. All right?"


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Most of those present volunteered. It had been a long night for all, and everyone was eager to see something of the new world beyond the temporary camp. Veren suspected they were also reluctant to believe anything on Kalimdor could be worse than what they'd left behind.

In the end, Veren chose Shel'yin, another warlock, three raiders including one who knew the way to the site, and three grunts.

"I should come with you," Kerd Bladeleaper said.

"No," Veren said firmly. "I need someone to stay and keep an eye out here, and you have the most experience after Lev. Besides, you've been riding all night."

"You have been walking," Shel'yin pointed out.

"Shel'yin," Veren said wearily. "Shut up. Let's go."

Strange sounds rose around them as they moved quietly through the woods. Redmorning was glad he had left his banner behind. The undergrowth was scarce, but they often had to duck under low branches.

"Know what that is?" Veren whispered, as a high twittering noise rose on their left.

"Birds," Shel'yin said. The warlock's steps were quiet, for someone so large.

_Must be a whole bloody lot of them, then, _Veren thought. The sound seemed to increase as the sun came up, many small voices singing all around them. Occasionally, Veren caught the sound of rustling in the scant grass and bushes, and once or twice he saw small creatures like the ones the scouts had killed. _There is more life here of all kinds than there is in Outland._

He could have made himself invisible, of course. Mana seemed thick in the air here, though its taste was unfamiliar. _But nobody else here can windwalk, and I'd look like a coward for leaving them all visible._

The terrain they passed through was more or less level at first, but gradually it began to slope upwards. Large rocks lay strewn around on the soft ground cover. Veren heard the stream well before they reached it. The raider who rode point signaled a halt at the edge of the water. Veren moved to the front to have a look.

The raider pointed wordlessly. Veren carefully moved a branch covered in green needles out of the way and peered across the stream.

_Great._ He should have known better than to assume Kerd was exaggerating. The ground was indeed covered with web, and bones lay on and under the carpet of pale weaving. And the spiders…

Veren Redmorning swore quietly. Kerd had been accurate about those, too. _And we've found the first thing here that looks like it belongs in Outland. _The spiders were red, and most had black or purple markings on their backs. They stood very still in the cold morning, but he could see their abdomens pulsing.

He did not see Lev Darksun, but no doubt the warrior lurked somewhere close by. Veren drew back, gesturing the others to come closer.

"I'm going to try and cut us a path through the webbing," he said quietly. "Don't attack until I do. Warlocks, try and burn up some of the stuff on the ground. Understood?"

The Orcs nodded variously in reply. The air grew denser as those who could began to wrap themselves in mana. Veren did likewise, slowly at first. _This mana is different than in Outland. It doesn't feel right._

Veren Redmorning drew his swords with care, to avoid making a noise. Then he called up his spell. A blue haze descended on everything around him, lending an unreality to his surroundings. He moved forward, and the tree branches offered no resistance as he ghosted through them and across the stream.

Then he woke up lying on his back, and not at all sure how he had arrived there. Veren squinted up at the bright sky between the tops of trees. He tried to move his head, and discovered he was held firmly in place by a fine but very strong net. Then he took a deep breath, and encountered the stabbing pain in the right side of his chest.

"Aargh," said Veren Redmorning.

An Orc's head loomed into his view, blotting out the sky. "He's not dead yet," Shel'yin said, in a tone of voice which indicated he _could _be dead at any time.

"Hold on, Chieftain," said Lev's voice, and then an axe descended toward Veren's face. He held quite still as it parted the strands in a straight line from his head to his toes.

"A knife would have made more sense," Shel'yin said. Veren agreed with this silently.

"Ha," Lev said. "No knife is as sharp as this axe. I shave with it all the time."

"You shave with an _axe?_" said a raider's voice from out of Veren's view. "Is that what happened to your nose?"

Veren got up to his elbows in time to see Lev stride over and cuff the surprised Orc out of her saddle. A second later, she vaulted over the wolf's back and hit Darksun squarely in the chest with both feet. She landed on her hands and somersaulted neatly back onto her mount as Lev staggered back a step. Another wolf rider snickered from her own mount.

"Now I see why you need the axe," the first raider announced. "You hit like an Elf. But you kill spiders pretty good. I think I like you."

"Hmph." Lev hooked the axe onto his belt, eyeing the other Orc speculatively. "You've got a big mouth, for somebody short as a peon. What's your name?"

"Gedu Pouncefaster," she said.

"Mostly Gedu Talkfaster," said the other raider, and Gedu laughed at what was clearly an old joke.

Shel'yin snorted and turned back to Veren. "Don't sit up yet," he said, and started twisting the discarded spider web into a band. "I think you've got some broken ribs."

"Upper right side," Veren said, trying not to breathe deeply. "What happened, exactly?"

The warlock started to wrap the web tightly around Veren's chest. Redmorning made an effort to look as if this did not hurt.

"Let's see," Shel'yin said. "You cut a few yards of web, then you became visible all of a sudden. Then the big spider threw a web over you."

"I remember that part," Veren growled. He was discovering aches in parts of his body which he was sure hadn't hurt before. "The stupid local mana gave out. What happened _after _that?"

"Then I threw a pair of firebolts to clear the ground around you," Shel'yin said. "And we attacked the spiders. I think some of them ran over you. You're _lucky _the large one only stepped on you once." He used the word with obvious enjoyment.

"Thank you so much for pointing that _aaargh_."

"Don't try to get up too fast."

Redmorning glared at him as he bent over his knees, trying not to gag. After a couple of seconds, he fumbled around for his swords and sheathed them. Raising his arms hurt almost as much as breathing. When he could speak, he spent a minute or so inventively cursing mana, spiders, warlocks in general, and Shel'yin in particular.

Shel'yin looked down at him thoughtfully when he had run out of breath.

"I don't believe that last one is anatomically possible," he said.

"Shut," Veren paused for breath. "Up." He looked around more slowly. The ground seemed to be strewn with dark blood and parts of spiders, including the neatly disemboweled body of the largest. A good half of the webbing had been scorched from the ground, leaving it black and bare. "Anybody else get hurt?"

"Lev Darksun and I were burned slightly," Shel'yin said. "One of the spiders was spitting something corrosive. You were the only serious injury. Lev sent one of the raiders back to get everyone else."

"Good." Veren looked more closely and saw a patch of webbing stuck onto the warlock's arm. If the size of the bandage was any indication, the burn must be fairly large. "Where'd the others go?"

"The grunts and the other warlocks are patrolling the area for any more spiders," Shel'yin said.

"Help me up," Veren said.

"Hm." The warlock looked at him for a second. Then he reached forward, hooked his fingers into the straps of Veren's sword harness, and stood up, lifting him easily onto his feet. He let go when he was sure the smaller Orc was not going to fall over.

_He spent far too much time with Nel'hesh, that much is clear, _Veren thought_. Too bad the old warlock couldn't leave him without confirming his suspicions._

"It's full daylight now," Veren said. "It doesn't seem any warmer."

"I believe we've arrived at the beginning of winter," Shel'yin said. "I observed no frost, so it's remotely possible we will not freeze to death before we can build a settlement."

"Un huh," Veren said. He limped over to the outcrop of rock, stepping over spider limbs, and leaned his back against the cold stone. "See if you can encourage that remote possibility by gathering up as many bones as we can use for building." He paused to breathe again. "Have the raiders help you, if you can distract them from flirting with Lev. All right?"

"Of course, Chieftain," Shel'yin said. "If you start to see double, call me."

"Can you do anything if I do?"

"Probably not," the warlock said with grim satisfaction.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The peons, after a brief examination, declared that the trees would make even better building material than Draenor's mushrooms. Then they set to work.

Veren Redmorning looked at the frantically laboring peons, and the grunts and raiders who were far too many to patrol the camp, and promptly set most of them to work as well. Kerd Bladeleaper and Lev Darksun joined in with a will, organizing the fighters into shifts of working, hunting and sleeping so that some would be awake enough to guard the new camp at night.

At sundown, when most work stopped for the day, Veren sat on a section of log by a small fire and whittled nail-pegs. From time to time, he drank water from a wooden cup he'd hollowed out during the morning. A few others were also whittling as cook fires began to light around the camp.

Eventually, Merd Quickdigger came to collect the pile of pegs. Veren looked up as the peon approached. Nobody knew quite how old Merd was. His face was lined and leathery, but his arms and shoulders were as heavily muscled as most of the other peons. One of his tusked underteeth had broken off at the end, but it didn't seem to bother him.

"Hallo, Chieftain," Merd said cheerily. "How you doing?"

Veren glanced wryly down at the wrap over his chest as he set down his belt knife. His ribs seemed to hurt more as the evening grew colder. "Fine. Shel'yin says I can't do anything for a week at least, so I'm sitting here watching the rest of you do the real work. How did we do today, Merd?"

"Did good," Merd said. He began to gather up the variously-sized pegs into a scrap of fabric as he began to give his informal report. "Got lots done. Dug some burrows, and planted the spores we brought. Got a barracks up for everybody to sleep in. It's just a big lean-to 'til we get some of the animal hides tanned and sewed up. I think we found a tree for that. It smells like the mushroom we use for tanning, anyhow."

"How's the mining?"

"Eh." Merd tilted a thick, callused hand in a so-so gesture. "We got tools for making tools, but we gonna have to do a lot more before we can start smelting."

"We don't need the metal urgently," Veren said. "Except possibly for building. Everyone brought their own weapons."

"The pegs are gonna come in handy 'til we can make some nails," Merd agreed. "Oh, and Veddy made this." He reached back and removed something tucked in the back of his belt. "It'll show up better than the little one."

Veren looked at the rough rectangle the peon held up in front of him. It seemed to have been patched together from thick pieces of spider silk, dust rubbed into it to make it gray. One edge had been carefully made ragged in imitation of Veren's smaller flag.

_Fifty Orcs in gray clothes, with an undersized Chieftain from a clan whose name no one remembers, _Veren Redmorning thought_. We've got no device, no symbol, no crossed hammers or skulls or history to make a name from. We've got ourselves, and this._

"Don't like it?" Merd said, looking at his Chieftain's fierce expression as he stared at the dingy flag. "We can use the silk for something else, you want."

"No, Merd, it's exactly right," Veren Redmorning said. "Tell Veddy I said thank you. Hang it up where it can be seen. If we're really going to be a clan, we'll call ourselves the Tattered Banner."

Merd grinned, showing all his teeth.

"Yeah," he said. "That's us. Made from bits of everything. I do it right now, Chieftain." The peon inclined his head and left, carefully holding the dirty silk in his huge hands.

The next few weeks went very quickly. After the first week, Veren Redmorning resumed careful sword practice. At this point, Darksun and Bladeleaper began to organize exercises for the grunts and raiders. Even the warlocks seemed to have set up a sort of practice rota. Between working, hunting, and drill, everyone stayed very busy.

Veren made sure to devote time to practicing his windwalk. He found, to his relief, that it was possible to maintain his invisibility for as long as before, once he grew accustomed to the mana of Ashenvale.

_If we're _in _Ashenvale. There's still really no way to tell._ His scouts, traveling in an ever-widening spiral, found no evidence of any other settlements or towns nearby, nor any edge to the forest. Sometimes they glimpsed stranger creatures than the spiders.

Redmorning windwalked for about two miles the third week, following the water upstream from the settlement. He ran down not far from a small clearing. As the blue haze cleared, he saw the shaft of now-familiar yellow light falling between the trees up ahead. He moved quietly up to the opening.

Four creatures, hunched of shoulder and taller than Orcs, turned to stare at him. Veren stared back. Draenor has no bears, and he had no way to describe what he saw. He made note of the claws and apparent fangs at once, however. Outland had no shortage of those.

Two of the creatures seemed to have red feathers stuck in their back fur in a way that must certainly be deliberate. The others were larger, and striped red over their pale fur.

They did not seem particularly hostile, just startled to see him. Veren backed slowly away. None of the four showed an inclination to follow. When he was out of sight, he turned and began to move rapidly back toward the settlement.

He listened closely to his surroundings as he moved. He was less than halfway back when he heard a footfall behind him. Veren Redmorning turned and drew in one smooth motion.

He found himself facing the warlock Shel'yin across a beam of pale light. Dust motes circled as the two Orcs looked at each other. Behind the cowl that covered the top half of his face, the warlock did not seem surprised.

"How did you follow me?" Veren said after a moment.

Shel'yin planted the end of his staff in the ground cover and placed both hands atop the skull that crowned it. "Lev Darksun suggested you should not be alone," he said. "And I was certain you would be killed, if you wandered on your own."

"I'm sure he did," Veren said. He sheathed the swords. "He hates it when I go anywhere by myself. And, given your own sunny outlook, I'm sure that's exactly what you were thinking. But I said _how. _Not _why._"

"I saw you leave the camp," Shel'yin said.

"I was invisible," Veren said. "And I leave no footprints when I windwalk. I've checked."

"So did I," Shel'yin said. "But it is possible to see the invisible."

"It shouldn't be possible for an apprentice," Veren said. "Just how long did you train with Nel'hesh?"

"We should return, Chieftain," the warlock said. "I will tell you as we go."

"Fine." Veren turned and resumed his walk. Shel'yin paced along beside him.

"You're good, for a warlock," Veren said grudgingly. "I didn't hear you at all until just now."

"My Master believed magic should not be a warlock's only defense," Shel'yin said. "Considering the number of things which can kill an Orc."

"That sounds like something Nel'hesh would say. How long did you know him?" Veren pushed a low branch aside as he stepped onto a narrow game trail beside the stream. Hopefully, the water would mask the sound of their conversation from any potentially hostile ears.

"All my life. I was his apprentice from the time I was old enough to speak," Shel'yin said.

That _certainly explains a few things. _"Didn't you have parents?"

"Briefly," Shel'yin said. "They were killed by voidwalkers while they hunted. Nel'hesh took me in."

_In other words, he _was _your parents._

"Demons," Veren said. "I'm surprised you didn't strike me dead that first night. Or just now, for that matter."

The tall Orc shrugged. Muscle rolled in his red shoulders. "I gave my oath," Shel'yin said. "And the clan is unlikely to survive as it is. Without leadership, it would have no chance at all."

"Sometimes I wonder how I ended up Chieftain," Veren said slowly. "I'm younger than Darksun and Bladeleaper. Even Merd has more experience than I have."

"The raiders would not follow Darksun," Shel'yin said. "The grunts would not follow Bladeleaper. And the peons know you will not forget them. The older warlocks thought you a logical choice."

"Clans have been led by warlocks before," Veren said.

"You mean Gul'dan," Shel'yin said. "And Ner'zhul. No. We will not allow that to happen again. You will lead us well. If you live."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Author's note: I will not be referring to female warlocks as witches. The style of magic generally attributed to witches, traditional or contemporary, bears no resemblance to that practiced by Fel Orcs._

One month after the arrival from Outland, the Orcs encountered their first satyrs. A night scouting mission did not come back, and Veren Redmorning went with the next group to see what had happened. This time he windwalked ahead of the rescue party, over Lev Darksun's hushed but vehement protest.

It was well that he did. He heard the wolves whine from yards away. He glided through the branches at the edge of a rocky embankment and found two Orcs firmly bound and lying in the rocks. Their mounts lay close by with their legs tied together, and they flopped about on their sides in a futile attempt to rise.

He did not see the satyrs at all, at first. The whole bank seemed gray and open, utterly empty. Then something moved on his immediate left, and he turned and found himself face-to-face with what seemed to be a demon.

The Men and Elves of Azeroth have been known to laugh at the Orcish battle cry. Many fewer have done so after hearing it on the field.

The Orcs of the Fel have no battle cries. Their world is populated with too many things that approach by stealth and kill in silence. So when Veren Redmorning came out of his invisibility, it was utterly without warning. The creature in front of him might have wondered briefly where the sudden whirlwind of flying blades came from, but its body was in doll rags before it could make a single sound.

He heard an animal scream from behind him. Redmorning drew his swords as the bladestorm died down, but the second creature was dead as well. He looked around him warily, but nothing moved on the hillside.

Then he heard a sound, like a cloven hoof striking a rock.

About half a second after that, a firebolt flew past him and outlined a body that had been invisible an instant before. It writhed, screaming as it burned, until Redmorning cut its throat.

"Good shot," he said. "I thought we left Shel'yin back in camp."

"You did," said a throaty voice. Redmorning looked back and saw a slim, cowled figure stepping lightly from stone to stone, alert for any more demons. _This _warlock was a great deal smaller than Shel'yin, a darker shade of red, and her facial bones made her gender obvious even under the mask.

"Whose apprentice were you?" Veren said. He tried without success to imagine any of the four senior warlocks voluntarily training a woman. _They were stiff that way._

"My Master died months before I left Outland," she said. "His name does not matter."

"And what about you?" Veren Redmorning said.

"My name is Kev'ran."

The rest of the rescue party ascended the hill rapidly behind her, moving to free the prisoners and search for other enemies.

"I'm sure that thing was invisible," Redmorning said.

"Yes. I threw the bolt when I heard the sound."

Veren looked from the body to the small warlock as he sheathed his swords. "You could've hit me!"

"I have fought the Draenei since I was seven years old," Kev'ran said. Her face, where it showed, was young. Behind the gray cowl her eyes seemed large, and black, and very old. "If I had to see something to hit it, I would be long dead now."

"What was your clan?" Veren asked.

"Black Tooth Grin. I believe one of the grunts is from there as well, but since the Elves allied with the Draenei, we are probably the last surviving."

She spoke without emotion, as one relating the weather or the time.

_It's the same story I could tell, _Veren Redmorning thought. _Remnants and rejects. We all are._

It no longer mattered that Veren's own father had died in a skirmish with the Black Tooth Grin Clan. _There was nothing but madness while the demon ruled us. All of it is past now._

Two months after the arrival from Outland, it began to snow.

Redmorning woke to a draft on his arm and the sound of excited voices. He sat up and discovered he had thrown his deerskin blanket halfway off in his sleep. He shivered slightly as he rolled off the pallet and reached for his new hide cloak. _It gets colder every morning._ He had to break a skin of ice over the water bucket by the burrow's door to wash his face.

He ducked out of the burrow and discovered that the sky was falling.

"What in the Twisting Nether…?"

Cold, wet bits of something landed on his shoulders and his upturned face. All over the settlement, Orcs looked in wonderment at each other through a curtain of falling white.

"It is snowing," Shel'yin said, appearing silently beside the Chieftain.

"It's what?"

"Frozen water is falling from the sky, Chieftain," the warlock said. His tone of voice suggested that he was explaining things to a very small child. "No doubt it will continue to do so throughout the winter."

"You _knew _this was going to happen? And you didn't say anything?" Veren looked suspiciously up at his senior warlock. "If nothing else, I would think it would have made it onto your ongoing list of reasons we're all going to die."

"I knew about the satyrs also," Shel'yin said. He folded his arms, his skull-staff held in one large hand. Veren noted that he was also wearing a cloak, although it seemed a little short for him. "There is not enough time to tell you _everything _that could be dangerous here. This is why I prefer to follow you instead of warn you."

"And you like saying 'I told you so' every time something bad happens," Veren said. The warlock remained smugly silent. "Un huh. Well, since you're the only one who knows what's happening, you are now officially in charge of making sure everyone else knows. Go find Kerd and Lev."

"Yes, Chieftain," Shel'yin said, and moved off through the falling snow.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Later that day, Veren Redmorning stepped out of a burrow with a peon in tow.

"It's a brilliant idea," Veren said. "If the spider can survive on what you're tossing in there, we've got a guard on our food supply and we've got silk for more clothes and blankets."

"Yeah, they don't eat mushrooms," the peon said. "We working on a loom, too, now we got enough guts to string it. Pretty soon we be able to make yarn outta the hair we got off the wolves. Warmer blankets."

"Excellent. Tell Merd he never ceases to amaze - "

"Chieftain!"

Veren turned to see Lev running through the fresh snow, leaving large footprints behind as he went. He pulled up in front of Redmorning. Like all the other Orcs, he now wore a tunic and cape made from patched-together animal hides.

"One of Kerd's raiders found an Elf out in the woods," Lev said. "We think it's an Elf, anyhow. It's really tall and it's mostly naked and it's sort of purple."

"Lev," Veren said wearily. "I thought I told you not to eat the local mushrooms any more - "

"I wasn't," Lev said in a tone of injured virtue. "Come see for yourself."

"All right. See you later, Giv." The peon bowed and trotted off.

"Pouncefaster won't let me forget the thing with the mushrooms, either," Lev said, as they walked toward the two new watchtowers by the stream.

"How are you and Gedu?"

"She never shuts up," Lev said. "Guess I knew that when I picked her."

"It looked to me more like she picked you," Veren said mildly.

"If you say so," Lev muttered. "They got the Elf inside the great hall, trying to get it warmed up. I've got to get back to patrolling."

"Fine. Go on, Lev." Veren pushed aside the rough curtain and walked into the hall. The word "great" seemed somewhat less than apt in describing a building no larger than the barracks. So far, the hall's only furniture was a set of chairs carved out of tree stumps. Veren used it when he needed to talk to several Orcs at once, since it was now too cold to stand around outside for long.

Shel'yin, Kev'ran, and Kerd Bladeleaper knelt close to the fireplace. The larger warlock fed dry sticks into the growing flames. On a pallet closest to the fire, wrapped in a lizard-hide blanket lined with fur, lay the Elf. It seemed to be unconscious, blood streaking its dark hair and the side of its face. One of its long ears was distinctly notched in several places.

Lev had not exaggerated: its skin was indeed a light violet, made paler by the cold.

Kerd looked up as Veren came closer. "You ever see a Blood Elf this tall?" she said in her gruff voice.

Veren looked closely at the Elf. _She's taller than I am. Not that that's saying much. I think Kev'ran is the only one here who isn't. _"The Stormrage is that tall. And about that color, if memory serves."

"She is a Night Elf," Shel'yin said. He watched as Kev'ran used a silk rag to daub off some of the blood from the Elf's face.

"She? How can you tell?"

"Only Night Elves are this color."

"No, I mean how can you tell it's a woman? They all have those narrow faces."

Kev'ran flipped back an upper fold of the blanket, revealing the Elf's scantily-clad upper body. Many small bandages covered her skin, but certain features were still quite obvious.

"Oh," Vern said.

The Elf stirred at the draft of cold air, groaning something in a language that seemed to lack any gutturals. Kev'ran covered her again.

"Did anyone understand that?" Veren asked. All present shook their heads.

"None of us had time to learn the Blood Elves' language before we left," Shel'yin said. "I doubt it would help us with this one."

"I am speak… Orc-tongue."

Veren blinked. The Elf opened eyes the same color as her skin as she turned her face away from the fire.

"Did she just say something in really bad Orcish?" he asked.

"Not bad," the Elf said hoarsely. "Talk to spies from Orgrimmar all time, get plenty practice."

"I think it's some kind of dialect," Kev'ran said. "We have not seen the Orcs who left Draenor for a long time. They no doubt have their own languages by now. "

"Or she just doesn't speak it very well," Kerd Bladeleaper said dryly. The Elf frowned muzzily at Kev'ran's hand as she wiped the side of her face.

"You hand… Is red?"

"Did she hit her head on something?" Veren asked.

"Not sure," Kerd said. She lifted her horned helmet and scratched her head, then smoothed her black hair before replacing it. "Medi Snapfang found her tangled up in some roots. We think she might have fallen out of the tree. There was a broken weapon on the ground close to her. It's over there."

"That would not explain her other bruises," Shel'yin said, as Veren rose and went to look at the thing which lay on one of the chairs. "She also has several small wounds which could have come from weapons like that one. Kev'ran bandaged her. She does not seem to want me to touch her."

"This looks like some kind of big throwing star," Veren said. "I've never seen one this size. I've only seen one or two at all, for that matter. Most clans don't use them."

"Glaives are difficult to forge," Shel'yin said. "The Night Elves have had thousands of years to perfect the technique."

"So… Some other Elves attacked her, then left her to freeze to death in the snow? Some kind of clan infighting, do you suppose?" Veren set the weapon down and came to kneel beside the Elf again.

"I do not think so," Shel'yin said. His eyes reflected the fire with a green glow. Kev'ran's still seemed black. "Nel'hesh told me little of how they organize themselves, but I had the impression they are very different from Orcs."

"Ha," the Elf said, apparently understanding at least the last part of this. "Orcs don't kill you slow. Quick, quick."

"Some do," Veren said. "Torture is not an Elvish invention, I'm afraid." He tried to speak slowly so the Elf would understand. "Were you tortured?"

The Elf looked up at him, ignoring the question. "You Chief here?"

"Yes. I'm Veren Redmorning. What's your name?"

"I am glaive," the Elf said. Her voice began to fade, so that Veren had to lean forward to hear the rest. "Blade is broken. Good for nothing."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Not long after sunset, when the cook fires were dying down, Veren Redmorning went back to the great hall. He met Kev'ran on her way out with a bucket of dirty water.

"Is she awake?" he asked.

"Yes." The bucket must be heavy, but the small Orc hefted it with ease. "You may not be able to see her until she moves. Shel'yin tells me that her people are able to make themselves invisible at night."

Veren pondered this. "_Anything _can become invisible at night," he said.

Kev'ran shrugged. "Even in the firelight, it is very difficult to see her."

"Thank you for tending to her," Veren Redmorning said. "I understand you have other work to do."

"It is my honor to serve," Kev'ran said. She bowed slightly and left.

_She's almost as glum as Shel'yin. I should try and separate them whenever possible, _Veren thought. Then he ducked into the dim interior of the hall and waited for his eyes to adjust. It happened quickly. This was the closest to normal lighting conditions on Outland to be found anywhere on Kalimdor.

The Elf sat up on the pallet, leaning against the wall by the fireplace. She had the blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, but it was difficult to tell there was anything in it. Veren could, if he squinted, just make out the outline of her head.

He considered dragging a seat over, to avoid sitting on the cold floor. _No. She probably feels threatened enough without me towering over her._ Veren sat cross legged on the other side of the fireplace, instead.

The Elf shifted position slightly, and her face snapped into focus. She was cleaner now, and seemed more alert. _At least, as far as I can tell. Elves are hard to read. Their faces are too different._

"Good evening," Veren Redmorning said, when she did not seem about to speak. "Feel any better?"

"You demon Orcs," the Elf said. "All red."

She did not seem afraid. If anything, she sounded angry.

"We no longer serve Magtheridon," Redmorning said. "We left Outland to get away from the Stormrage."

"Demon Orcs cut Ashenvale," the Elf said. "Elves find you, they kill you."

"You'd kill us for cutting down trees?" Redmorning considered this. _She's not too offended to sit by the wood fire. _"How do _you _stay warm in the winter?"

The Elf lowered her head, staring into the flames. "I kill no one. I am Glaive. Blade is broken."

"You said that before. Who attacked you?"

"Sentinels," she said.

"Why?" _Are they going to come looking for you? Fifty of us can't defend this camp against all the Elves in Ashenvale._

"Killed the Leafdancer. Not your word…" She frowned. "Teaches fighting…"

"You killed some kind of combat instructor?"

The Elf nodded. Veren tried not to be repulsed by her ridiculously inadequate chin. _She can't help how she looks, and no doubt we're just as ugly to her._

"You're still in training? How old are you?" he said. "I thought Night Elves were ancient."

"Leafdancer was old," the Elf who called herself Glaive said. "I am…" She paused again, frowning. "Not good at Orc-numbers… Four tens and five? No matter now."

"Was it an accident?" Veren asked.

"Why you care?" Glaive looked at him suspiciously. "You cut me soon? Why not send for…" At this point she used a word which Veren had never heard.

"We're not going to cut you," he said, frowning. "And I don't know what a 'witch doctor' is."

"Not know you own ugly tongue," Glaive muttered. "Got no trolls?"

"Oh. Trolls," Veren said. "We had to kill a few when they attacked our scouts. Why would we go to them for help? From what my warlocks tell me, they even eat each _other_."

"You got no magic healers?" Glaive said.

"No. And I have to wonder what kind of people Night Elves are, if you believe torturing the wounded is normal behavior."

"You red Orcs," Glaive said sullenly. "Red Orcs killed Cenarius."

"This keeps making less sense as we go," Veren said. "Who is Cenarius?"

"Cenarius was," Glaive hunted for words again, scowling with concentration. "Sort-of god? Half-god?"

"He was a demigod?"

"Yes. Demigod."

Redmorning listened as she related the history of Grom Hellscream and the Warsong in her awkward Orcish. After this, she told him of the killing of the demon, and Warchief Thrall's alliance with Elves and Humans.

"I take it this alliance is over," Redmorning said. Glaive shifted again, then winced.

"Always fighting now. Sometimes I talk to spies when Leafdancer not looking, but I tell them not very much, and nothing they can use."

_Her voice is failing again._

"You're tired," Redmorning said. "I'll come back tomorrow. Get some rest." He unfolded his legs and got smoothly to his feet. The Elf, huddled in her blankets, stared up at him.

"Why this matters? Why save me?"

"We are the Tattered Banner," Redmorning said. "We're alone in this place, and so are you. As far as I'm concerned, that makes you one of us for as long as you want to stay."

He left her there, curled up by the fire like a wounded animal.

Four Orcs stood outside the hall when he came out. Shel'yin was there, and Kev'ran, and Darksun and Bladeleaper. They clustered around a watch fire, arguing.

"What's going on?" Veren asked. Four pairs of eyes immediately looked in his direction.

"What are you planning to do with the Elf, Chieftain?" Darksun asked. "My warriors want to know."

"Everyone wants to know," Kerd Bladeleaper said.

"She will die if we turn her out in the snow," Kev'ran said fiercely. "She is hardly strong enough to stand."

"But what if the others come looking?" Lev demanded. "Even if we do turn her loose, they'll know where we are."

"I don't think there's any danger of that," Veren Redmorning said. "Her wounds were inflicted by her own people."

A ruminative silence followed this remark. Dark red skins shone in the light from the fire.

"I thought so," Shel'yin said.

"Apparently they left her for dead," Veren said. "She says it's because she killed her fighting instructor."

"How?" Kerd Bladeleaper said. "If the instructor wasn't better than she was, she had no business teaching."

"I'll bet she did it from behind," Lev said. Kev'ran glared at him. Redmorning observed that her eyes still showed no reflection at all, though Shel'yin's glowed green in the firelight.

"She didn't tell me how," Veren said, forestalling further argument among the four. "I'll talk to her further tomorrow, when she's had time to rest."

"And make up some more fairy tales," Lev muttered.

"That's enough," Veren said.

"You know we can't trust - "

"I said it's _enough,_" Veren Redmorning said sharply.

Lev Darksun looked at his Chieftain's face. Redmorning's eyes were not flinty or steely. They did not flash, nor did they resemble fire in any way. They were black, and rather narrow. In the end, it made no difference at all. The clan had made Veren Redmorning their Chief for a reason.

"Yes, Chieftain," Lev said.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Veren Redmorning jerked upright on his pallet, every sense alert. He groped for his sword harness as he listened for the sound that had awakened him.

_There._ The _twang _of arrows being fired from the watchtowers was clearly audible. _And others. That's not an Orc bow I hear now. No time to waste putting on a tunic. _Veren snapped the harness in place, drew his swords, and windwalked out of the burrow and into the night.

He supposed he should not have been entirely surprised to see the two Night Elves using the shadow of his burrow for cover. They were certainly surprised to see him.

An arrow whistled past his head a couple of seconds after he broke cover, but it was entirely too late. Veren left the bodies and dodged behind the burrow himself. A moment later, he risked a glance around one edge.

Darts flew periodically from slits in the other burrows, with limited accuracy due to the peons' limited vision. A number of raiders seemed to be embroiled in a running engagement with some Elves mounted on black panthers. As he watched, a raider leaned half out of her saddle and neatly stabbed the nearest Elf's thigh. The enemy rider shrieked and tried to throw a glaive, but blood spurted from the second-largest artery in her body and she was forced to withdraw toward the edge of the camp.

A number of archers like the two Veren had killed stood back out of range, shooting at the raiders and trying to avoid watchtower fire. Then a giant arrow hit one of the towers and it appeared to catch fire. The occupant kept right on firing, apparently undeterred.

_Brave Orc, _Redmorning thought. _And probably dead._

Behind the archers stood two very large Elves in feathered robes. As Veren watched, one clapped his hands together over his head, and the wounded woman's leg suddenly stopped bleeding as yellow light swirled around her.

_Demons. They _do _have healers._ Veren drew up his invisibility again, and ran out through the camp. It was difficult to see through the haze of windwalk at all, and even more so at night. Consequently, Shel'yin almost lost an arm when he seized Veren's shoulder on the way by.

Redmorning stopped just in time. "Kill the spellcasters!" he said, and ran on.

"Yes, Chieftain," Shel'yin said.

Redmorning heard a faint hiss behind him as the warlock threw a crippling spell at an Elf. Then there was another cry as the attacker was brained with a staff. Veren smiled grimly and dodged around the edge of the cavalry fight.

_Running out of mana. Save some for a bladestorm. _Veren snapped out of the windwalk as he ducked under the wooden supports of the nearest tower.

He glanced back and was surprised to see a small shape running after him. _Kev'ran. _Shel'yin seemed to have gone around the other side of the riders, tripping up a panther in passing and allowing Kerd Bladeleaper to gut it with an economical stroke.

A clear space already began to grow around the raiders' commander. All of the Night Elves were undoubtedly older than Kerd Bladeleaper, but none of them had grown up in Outland, Veren thought with grim humor. _A thousand years of sporadic combat is nothing to forty years of fighting everything in sight. And we've had no magic healers for generations. If you can't avoid _getting _hurt, you die._

The wolf was smaller than the panthers, and Kerd wore less armor than the Elves. It made no difference at all. Glaives missed as Kerd and the wolf Lightrunner dodged and leaped smoothly through the fracas. Those who attacked the Bladeleaper almost invariably fell.

Veren Redmorning looked back toward his targets and discovered one of them was still there. The other seemed to have been replaced by a very large and angry bear. It turned and started toward him as he watched, opening its mouth to bellow a challenge. The other Elves seemed to redouble their efforts as they heard its roar.

"I am here, Chieftain," Kev'ran's voice said.

Something hissed behind Veren, and he smelled the sharp tang of mana in the air. Then the unholy frenzy took hold, and his heart jumped in his chest as everything snapped into sharp focus. The animal in front of him seemed to move with dreamlike deliberation, lifting one foot after another as if it swam through mud.

Veren darted forward and to his right. The bear turned to slash at him, but it was far too slow. He spun and stabbed with his left sword behind the bear's left shoulder, burying it to the haft. The creature snarled and started to swat at him anyway. He leaped backward, then slashed at its eyes. He had to stab it twice more before it fell over.

Blood pulsed from the wound twice as Redmorning retrieved his other sword. At least one blow must have connected, because he seemed to have three parallel cuts across his bare chest and shoulder. It did not hurt, though he knew it would later.

Redmorning turned toward the other spellcaster, but it was already dead. Shel'yin stood over the body and used his staff as a club whenever a rider came near. Behind him, Lev Darksun was making splinters of what seemed to be some kind of arrow-throwing device.

"Kev'ran, go and help Shel'yin," he said, his own voice distant in his ears, and then he turned and ran back toward the inexplicable pile of bodies in front of the great hall.

A panther leaped past Redmorning's shoulder, seemingly hovering in the air. He hamstrung it with his right blade. It shrieked, spilling its rider at his feet. Redmorning sank the blade in the Elf's throat and started to run on.

Then he heard a crackle of unfamiliar mana and threw himself to the ground. He moved obscenely fast, but the nimbus of the spell still caught him as it flew over his head.

Veren Redmorning hissed as the frenzy dissipated abruptly. The weight of the world crashed down on his head, leaving him dizzy and weak. He struggled up to one knee, fighting to keep a grip on his swords – they seemed suddenly to weigh a hundred pounds each - and turned to see a new kind of Night Elf trotting toward him.

At least, her top half was Elf. The bottom half seemed to be some kind of deer. Veren watched her artfully spin a spear in her hands as he labored to raise his weapons, to fend off the blow, but he knew he would be too slow.

He had no gods to invoke, and if he had, there was no time. As he watched the Elf raise her weapon to finish him he thought, _I hope Shel'yin leads them well._

Then the Night Elf dropped her spear. Veren Redmorning blinked, uncomprehending, as the Elf wheezed and fell to all four knees. He looked without understanding at the broken glaive buried in her throat as she toppled over.

Someone snatched the sword from his unresisting left hand. It was the last thing he felt before he fell.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Better wake up," a voice said.

Veren Redmorning wondered why it did not sound like an Orc's voice. A second later he recalled the last thing he had seen. His eyes snapped open, and he stared wildly up at a thin violet face with one notched ear.

"Not very good blademaster," Glaive said, in a tone of some annoyance. The light of a new sunrise showed her face quite clearly. "Should kill dryad quick-quick. Very easy. Do it even with broken blade."

Veren made an inarticulate noise and sat up. This was harder than he expected. The Elf watched without discernible sympathy, shivering in her scant harness and disarranged bandages as she crouched in the bloody snow. She still clutched a gory sword in one hand.

Redmorning looked around in time to see both of his commanders headed toward him, looking grimly purposeful. The extremely bloody weapons both Orcs carried added considerably to this effect.

"She saved my life," Veren Redmorning said, to forestall any action he was likely to regret later. He waved a hand awkwardly at the dead dryad.

Lev wandered over to inspect the body as Kerd dismounted. She had collected a couple of scratches on her arms and shoulders, but seemed otherwise unharmed. She unfastened her cloak and laid it around Veren's shoulders as she knelt.

"How are we doing?" Veren asked, looking around for his second blade. He wiped it on the cleanest patch of snow he could find and sheathed it as Kerd spoke.

"It's over now. We lost two raiders, one grunt, and a peon who was inside the tower." Kerd nodded toward the still-smouldering remains of a watchtower. "I think everyone else is going to make it. One or two took serious cuts, but in the cold weather they probably won't fester."

"Any of the Elves get away?" Redmorning asked.

"No," Kerd Bladeleaper said. "Darksun, could you call Shel'yin over here? Don't try to stand up yet, Chieftain."

"I had the distinct impression we were outnumbered," Veren said.

"Not enough," Glaive said. She cleaned the blade of his sword and offered it to him hilt-first. He sheathed it awkwardly. Raising his arms pulled on the wounds across his chest, which still seemed to be bleeding. Judging by the color of the snow around him, he'd been lying there for a while.

There did seem to be quite a few dead bodies around him, including a number of archers with slashed throats in front of the great hall. Glaive followed the direction of his gaze.

"Easy as dryad," she said. "Too hard use bow up close."

Veren counted. "Demons," he said weakly. "You bloody well killed a dozen of them."

"_How _old did you say she was?" Kerd asked.

"Four tens, and five," Glaive said. She knelt with her arms folded around her upper body, shivering.

"Get her in by the fire, Kerd," Veren Redmorning said. "See she has whatever she needs. She's earned it."

Kerd looked to make sure Lev was coming back with the warlock. Then she pulled one of the Elf's arms across her shoulders, rose, and helped her into the nearby building.

Shel'yin knelt next to Veren and examined him critically.

"Kev'ran should not have cast the frenzy on you," he said. "You are not accustomed to its aftereffects. Hold still." And with that, he picked up the Chieftain easily and carried him into the great hall.

A couple of peons fed sticks into a new fire. Others laid out a few pallets for the wounded and unrolled bandages made of spider silk. Kev'ran was already there, getting water ready to boil, and a warlock whose name Redmorning could not quite remember was tending to Gedu Pouncefaster's leg. Lev Darksun went to check on this process as Shel'yin deposited Veren carefully on a pallet.

"Stay here, please," Shel'yin said. Veren found he was not at all tempted to disobey. His chest hurt, and he felt weak still. Had he really sat up on his own just a few minutes ago?

He turned his head to watch Shel'yin. The tall warlock went over to the fire and spoke briefly with Kev'ran. She quickly gathered up materials and carried them over to Veren's pallet.

"Shel'yin will carry the others in as well, since he is the strongest and the grunts are needed outside," Kev'ran said. "I am afraid this probably will hurt."

"See the Elf next," Veren said, as Kev'ran began to apply pressure to the parallel slashes on his chest.

"Need no seeing," said Glaive's voice. "Plenty easy fight."

Redmorning turned his head to see her seated on his right with a blanket wrapped around her. Someone had given her back her broken weapon. She held onto it with one hand as she held the blanket with the other.

"You fought well for us," Veren Redmorning said, trying to ignore what Kev'ran was doing. "I won't forget it. But why did you do it? They might have taken you back if you'd killed me."

"Too late for going back," Glaive said quietly. "Not forgive for kill a Sentinel."

Kev'ran poured something onto Veren's wounds. It stung more than it should have. _Shel'yin was saying something about the aftereffects of the frenzy, _he recalled dimly.

"I am Tattered Banner now," Glaive said. "If Chief keeps his word."

"I will keep it," Veren Redmorning said.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Orc Chieftain slept a great deal for the next day or so. The new stitches on his chest did not seem to heal very quickly. Gedu Pouncefaster was walking with a stick by the second day, about the same time Veren caught a fever. He called in his commanders that evening anyway.

"I'm sure you all realize we have a problem," Veren said. The other Orcs sat crosslegged on the floor around his pallet. Glaive seemed to have invited herself in, and she squatted next to the fire looking pleased with herself. Redmorning began to suspect this was a normal expression for Night Elves.

Glaive had collected new gear in the aftermath of the battle, and was now possessed of new boots, a cloak, a mail tunic with belt, and a larger number of weapons than Veren had thought it possible for one Elf to carry without clanking when she walked.

Redmorning sat up with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, trying not to shiver visibly. He tried not to look at Kev'ran, who knelt on the floor beside him. She had apologized for casting without his permission, and said almost nothing to him since.

"We are all going to die," Shel'yin said, in the voice of one stating a firm conclusion arrived at by careful thought. "It is merely a question of whether it will be tomorrow or sometime in the next two weeks."

A fair amount of eye-rolling ensued among the others.

"I believe he means we will be attacked again, but it depends on whether the Night Elves know where the party that attacked us was going," Kerd Bladeleaper said. "If they were an exploratory force, they might not have reported back first. It is possible the Elves do not know our exact position."

"They will, though," Lev Darksun said. "At the very least, we've narrowed it down for them."

"Got a few more days," Glaive announced, without moving away from the fire. "They wait a while for reports. Then they spend a while trying to convince each other you kill everybody. This take a long time. Elves not want to believe it. Not know _I_ am here helping you."

"Are all Night Elves this humble?" Lev asked.

Glaive grinned, showing square, white teeth.

"All Night Elves not as good as me," she said.

"Hmph. At least it's not hard to believe she did kill a drill instructor," Lev Darksun muttered.

"Was training battle," Glaive said. "Leafdancer say, 'Who wants to fight teacher?' to show everybody who the boss. And I say, 'I will.' And I don't lose quick. So she start using weapons." Glaive extended her hands toward the fire, turning her face from the others. "Pretty much downhill from there. She win, but only 'cause I got no blade."

"She came looking for you later," Lev Darksun said. "Didn't she? Probably not by herself."

The other Orcs looked at him in surprise, the original topic of conversation forgotten.

"It happens," Lev said. "You get someone like that in a bunch of recruits, they're not gonna take orders unless you beat it into them. I took a fair number of beatings when I first joined Magtheridon's army."

"That's not hard to believe," Kerd Bladeleaper said. "You don't take orders all that well _now_."

Lev shot her a look.

"You right," Glaive said quietly. "I am good, but not so good I beat ten-times-hundred year fighter without kill her. Problem was, after Leafdancer dead, the other two in bad shape. Don't remember how she die."

"And no one would believe you could kill her without cheating," Veren Redmorning said. "So as far as they knew, it was murder."

"Elves got less mercy than Orcs," Glaive said, turning back to them. She reached up to touch her notched ear. "Orcs kill quick, quick. Elves closer to nature. Make you hurt first."

This made perfect sense to Veren Redmorning, who had never arrived at the conclusion that nature was soft or friendly. Anyone starting from that idea on Outland was likely to end up inside a Fel stalker in fairly short order, and Fel stalkers were known to play with their food.

"If we've got a few days, we'd better start fortifying ourselves," he said, dragging everyone back to the reason for the meeting. "We may have to move from here, but I don't think we can organize it before we're attacked again."

He glanced at Glaive. She shook her head.

"I understand Merd Quickdigger has plans for catapults," Bladeleaper said. "We could use them to supplement the towers and take them with us afterward."

"Good. See it done, Kerd."

"Yes, Chieftain."

The meeting broke up. Glaive scampered off to "practice throw things," as she put it.

"And how are you, Kev'ran?" Redmorning asked, when everyone else was gone. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he twisted to look at the small Orc. "You didn't say anything through that whole discussion."

"I have nothing to say," the warlock said. "I know nothing about battle with many troops."

"We don't _have _many troops, so I think we may consider that a moot point," Veren said, a little irritably. His head was starting to hurt again. "And you did just fine when we were attacked."

"I should not have - "

"Has Shel'yin been giving you a hard time?" Veren interrupted.

Kev'ran blinked. "No. We spoke on the day of the battle. He has not spoken to me since then."

"It's probably not personal," Redmorning said. "He doesn't talk very much, unless he's telling everyone about our imminent demise."

"He does not speak so to everyone," Kev'ran said, perhaps a little defensively. "I think he does not want to frighten them."

"Hm. Then why don't you go talk to him now? I'm going to sleep here and it bothers me when you hover. I'm sure he'll be glad to tell you exactly what is going to happen to us. In detail."

"Shel'yin is a loyal Orc," Kev'ran said.

"I have no doubt that he is. Now off with you."

"I should not leave you alone, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. She shifted where she knelt, hesitating.

"Kev'ran, I am in the centermost building in a camp full of armed, nervous, and as you said, very loyal Orcs. There is no safer place I could possibly be at this moment."

"I will send someone to watch the door," Kev'ran said. She rose slowly and went to the curtained doorway. A puff of cold air came in as she went out.

Veren Redmorning edged his pallet closer to the fireplace and curled up on his side.

_I wonder if Shel'yin knows what a very lucky Orc he is._


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_A/N: Spot the Mel Brooks reference…_

Glaive spent most of that night wandering. She never slept much, now that her wounds were healing, and it was not yet wise to allow herself time to think. She was arrogant, and more than slightly impulsive, but she was not at all stupid.

Seven miles out from the settlement, she found her first owl scout. The slightly transparent creature flapped in place above a short pine, hovering in a way a normal owl would never be able to do. Glaive carefully scouted the base of the tree, in case the huntress who had left it might still be there. She took out her glaive and blew on the broken edge. She watched as it began to glow slightly blue. Then she threw it.

The glaive came down on the other side of the tree as the scout evaporated. Glaive caught it easily, and went to look for others.

The new game kept her busy for an hour or so. Seemingly, a fairly large party of huntresses had passed this way. From time to time she encountered the challenge of destroying the scouts without being seen by them, as their fields of vision occasionally overlapped. This became slightly easier when she attacked from the branches of the trees themselves.

The game absorbed her attention, and she did not stop to consider whether there might be a reason for so many scouts in one place. This is how she managed to drop down from an overhanging branch directly into a camp full of satyrs.

Glaive crouched, frozen, as she realized what she had done. She was invisible at once, but that would not last long. A shadowdancer would be bound to see her, even while she shadowmelded, and she dared not climb one of the corrupted ancients that surrounded her.

The large group of satyrs at the other end of the clearing seemed focused on something else. A fire pit burned between them and her position, and she could not quite see what it was. As Glaive watched, one of them kicked something.

"What'd you bring it all the way here for?" a male voice demanded in harshly-accented Elvish. "It's nothing but a skeleton. It's got bits of _ice _all over it. We can't raise anything from _this._"

Curiosity outweighed caution, as it often did with Glaive, and she crept closer.

"Look at its chainmail," a female voice said. "This was a knight, and not from anywhere near here. What's it doing in Ashenvale? Something's not right."

"You packed a hundred pounds of bones in armor back to camp because it looked funny? If you're going to act that stupid, you might as well go back to being an Elf."

"Hey, look," another voice said. "Is that socket glowing?"

"Don't be an idiot. Let's just burn the bones. I'll bet I could find a use for that armor."

"Hey, _I _carried it all the way here - "

Screams erupted as a gray haze fountained up around the group. Satyrs ran in every direction. A Hellcaller staggered toward Glaive, tearing at the skin of his face as it shriveled over the bones. He caught sight of the Elf and started to croak out an alarm. Glaive threw a knife into his eye socket and retrieved it as she ran past, toward the subsiding cloud of gray dust. She had to kill two more satyrs to get there. She knifed a third as he swung a scimitar at a figure in a ragged cloak and hood. She'd always been outnumbered, and now didn't seem like a time to stop.

Unfortunately, Glaive had forgotten the ancients. One Night Elf in shadow may escape notice, but it is entirely impossible to do so while openly running through a camp killing satyrs. She was turning to take care of another Hellcaller when an Ancient of War leaned over and swatted her with a branch as thick as most trunks.

Upon waking, the first thing she noticed was pain. This was not unusual in her recent experience. The fact that she seemed to be lying on the cold ground was. Glaive squeezed her eyes open and squinted up into the shadows under a tattered hood.

Two pinpoints of green flared above her. She stared into the sockets of a naked skull, blinking away the afterimages as the light faded from the depths. The skeleton's hood seemed to have fallen back, and it held a notched sword point-down in its hands.

The jawbone lowered slightly.

"Are you awake?" The voice seemed to echo from a great distance, deep and sepulchral. It was still quite distinctly a man's voice, and Glaive almost answered in Orcish before she realized the words had been in the Common tongue.

Too bad she didn't speak Common much better than Orcish.

"Depends," she said. "You dead?"

"Extremely," the skeleton said.

"Then I guess I 'wake." She sat up slowly, staring at the apparition. "Puzzled, though."

"It would be wise to move on," the skeleton said. "The ancients will uproot themselves in a few moments."

Glaive climbed unsteadily to her feet, shaking her head carefully. It hurt anyway.

"Can't believe I got swatted by a tree," she muttered in Orcish, waiting for the nausea to fade. "Lev ever find out, he never shut up."

Dead satyrs lay all around, twisted into strange contortions and shriveled like mummies. The fire was out. The nearest ancient was a pile of splinters, many of them obviously rotten. The others did seem to be trying to pull their roots up from the ground, wood groaning as it twisted through a range of motion that flesh would not bear.

"Probably best you follow me," Glaive said, and set off into the woods.

She did not have to look back to see if the dead man followed. He was quieter than she had expected, but his bony toes occasionally hit something under the snow. She moved more slowly than usual, frequently forced to pause and wait for waves of dizziness to subside.

By the time they had covered three miles, she had to stop. Glaive leaned against a tree trunk, trying not to gag. Everything she looked at seemed to have a slight aura, an unnatural glow around the edges.

The dead man stopped next to her, watching. She looked at him, forcing herself to straighten, but it was impossible to read any expression on a face devoid of flesh. He leaned on the sword as he looked at her.

"Why were you trying to help me?" the distant voice asked.

"Felt like it," Glaive said, with complete honesty. Then she threw up. The skeleton moved back slightly, but showed no signs of leaving.

Glaive was on her hands and knees when she finished, the snow cold under her palms.

"That is not a reason," the voice said.

"Is for me," Glaive said. She scooped clean snow into her mouth, then spat.

"I have yet to meet an Elf who does not sincerely hate everything that is Undead," the skeleton said, with the finality of a coffin lid slamming.

"Bet you not met one lives with red Orcs, either." Glaive leaned on the tree trunk as she got slowly to her feet. She kicked snow over the mess she had made. The auras did not seem to be going away.

"I realize you have suffered what is undoubtedly a serious head injury, and there is probably no point in arguing with you, but there are no more red Orcs on Azeroth."

"I pass out and freeze to death, you not gonna find out you wrong," Glaive said. She glared at the skeleton, which now seemed to glow faintly green. "You helping, or not?"


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Chieftain?"

"Nrgh?" Veren Redmorning said. Someone was shaking his shoulder carefully, avoiding the stitches. He did not want to get up. His fever had only broken a few hours ago, and he felt just about strong enough to roll over and go back to sleep.

"Must you wake him?" Kev'ran's voice said. "He has not rested well in some time."

"I'm afraid we will need his decision on this," Shel'yin said. "We cannot simply allow an Undead into the camp."

"A _what?_" Veren opened his eyes and looked up at the warlock, instantly awake. _ Well. As close as I'm going to get. _At least his head felt clearer now that the fever had passed.

"Glaive came into the camp leaning on what appears to be a skeleton," Shel'yin said. "She seems to have suffered an injury. Her speech is not completely coherent, and we were not certain what to do."

"Where in the bloody Twisting Nether did she find an animate dead in _Ashenvale?_" Veren sat up and reached for his sword harness, pushing back the blanket. He already wore his tunic. He'd been too cold without it.

"Some of the satyrs can raise skeletons," Shel'yin said. "This one does not appear to be one of theirs."

"And, being you, you decided that if you let it in, it will kill all of us in our sleep," Veren finished. Shel'yin raised one eyebrow.

"No Undead can be trusted," he said.

"Here, Chieftain." Kev'ran slipped a cloak around his shoulders. "You should try not to stay outside for long. It is snowing again."

Shel'yin seized Redmorning's harness and hoisted him upright without waiting to be asked.

"_Thank _you," Veren said irritably, once he had fully gained his balance. "Where are they?"

"By one of the watch fires," Shel'yin said, and led the way. His steps were utterly silent in the snow, and through the falling white he seemed ghostly. Kev'ran caught up to Redmorning a moment later, slinging a satchel over one shoulder as she padded along.

"If Glaive is seriously hurt, she belongs in the hall," Veren Redmorning said to Shel'yin's back. "Undead or no Undead."

The warlock's reply was largely inaudible. Veren thought he recognized the words "chieftain" and "stupid."

"What was that?" he asked mildly.

"Nothing, Chieftain," Shel'yin said.

The watch fire glowed red past the warlock's shoulder. Veren heard the faint hiss of snow falling into the open blaze through the vent in the canvas that formed a rough shelter around it.

Glaive sat on a log close to the fire, her head in her hands. The thing that stood beside her was undoubtedly a skeleton. It was also definitely not Orcish. _The jaw is too small._

Veren Redmorning looked curiously at the Undead as he stepped under the canvas.

"That's not Elvish armor," he said.

"I was human, once," said the skeleton. At least, Veren assumed that was where the voice came from. It seemed unlikely that any living thing could sound like _that._

"My name is Veren Redmorning," Veren said. "This is the Tattered Banner Clan."

Shel'yin fell back behind Veren's shoulder. Redmorning felt him there, a large body radiating heat and disapproval.

"I no longer remember my born name," the dead man said. His Orcish was fluent and natural. "Now I am Rokhyel Shadebreaker. I have no nation, though I was once a knight of Alterac."

"If you permit me a moment, Milord Shadebreaker…"

The skeleton nodded. Veren crouched in front of Glaive as Kev'ran sat down on the log beside her. "What happened, Glaive?"

"…Was playing a game…"

"What game?"

"Don't remember," Glaive said. She raised her head, blinking. As pale as her eyes were, the different sizes of her pupils were very obvious. "Kill satyrs…"

"There must have been a large number, then," Kev'ran said. She also seemed to be looking at the Elf's eyes. "She would easily have killed one or two. Isn't that true, Glaive?"

"Did kill two," Glaive said. "Maybe three. Ask dead man."

"It was three," Shadebreaker said. "She was hit by an ancient. I believe she landed on her head."

"There is no doubt," Kev'ran said. "She has quite a lump on this side."

"How did you come to be there?" Shel'yin asked. Veren shot him a look. He looked back impassively, arms folded.

"A satyr found me lying frozen," Shadebreaker said. "Since I could not move, they believed I was dead."

_I can't imagine what would give them that idea, _Veren thought, but kept it to himself. "And, being satyrs, they probably had an interesting use planned for your component parts," he said. "What did you do?"

"I cast death and decay on them," Shadebreaker said. "And I threw the coil over two. Their lives sustain me now."

Kev'ran glanced up sharply from her examination of the Elf. The two warlocks looked at each other.

Small points of green light sprang up in empty sockets. "Your advisors will tell you that only death knights can perform the arts of which I speak," Shadebreaker said quietly. "It is the truth."

"I had understood that Liches cast death and decay," Shel'yin said.

"Perhaps that is the way of things now," Shadebreaker said. "There were no Liches in my day. I have seen the new knights from a distance, and heard their beating hearts. They and I are not of the same kith."

"How did you come to help Glaive all the way back here?" Veren Redmorning asked, forestalling further argument from Shel'yin.

"She was trying to come to my aid when the ancient struck her," said the skeleton. "And I was curious. She said she lived with Orcs. I had never heard of such a thing."

"Me either," Glaive said, raising her head slowly. "…Found me in the snow…"

"Here, drink this," Kev'ran said. She extracted a small vial and a smaller cup from the satchel, poured a tiny draught, and helped the Elf swallow it.

"You ran into a camp full of satyrs to help one Undead?" Veren Redmorning said.

"Of course she did," Shel'yin muttered. "It is now clear. All Night Elves are mad."

Glaive swallowed a couple of times, then turned her violet eyes on the warlock. "Orcs mad," she said, her voice a little stronger. "Not adopt dead man quick-quick. He good at kill things."

"That much is clear," Veren Redmorning said. He straightened carefully, wary of his balance. He still felt weak. "Are you indeed a nationless man, Rokhyel Shadebreaker?"

"Yes, Chieftain Redmorning," said the resonant voice. "Those who are left in Alterac would tear me bone from bone, if they saw me now."

"Then you are welcome to the Tattered Banner," Redmorning said. "It doesn't matter if you're alive or dead. Those who belong to no one, belong to us."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker set the point of his sword in the snow and bowed over the hilt. Firelight reflected from the smooth dome of his skull.

"I have wandered long. Never have I found any, alive or dead, who would accept my service," he said. "I am yours to command."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The next few days passed in frantic activity. It snowed heavily, and often. The peons built banks of packed snow in a great semicircle around the edges of the trees, leaving only the spaces beneath the supports of the two watchtowers. Water was heated and thrown onto the makeshift barricades, forming a crust of ice.

The Tattered Banner readied itself to move. Those buildings which could be dismantled were taken down piece by piece, bound up and loaded on travois. Merd Quickdigger took apart the loom himself. His wife, Veddy Sharpneedle, packed each piece in silk.

Veren Redmorning spoke long with Glaive and with his lieutenants, trying to decide where they would go.

"It'll take days to get out of the woods, no matter which way we choose," Kerd Bladeleaper said one cold afternoon, as they sat around a fire in the newly roofless great hall. Lev Darksun was out patrolling: it was rare for both of them to be in camp at the same time. Kerd sat with her elbows on her knees, looking tired as she always did. A very large Orc stood outside the nominal entrance, his broad back obscuring the doorway.

"Better not go North," Glaive said. "Elves touchy, anybody get close to Mount Hyjal now." The Elf seemed to have recovered completely from her injury, now that a few days had passed. Her older cuts had dwindled to scars, white lines on her purple skin.

"That's understandable, given what Shel'yin tells me about recent history here," Veren said. The warlock nodded. Even seated, he was still tallest of the five.

Veren glanced at the fifth person present. Kev'ran sat quietly between Glaive and Shel'yin, listening but not speaking. The Chieftain was a little puzzled as to the reason for her presence, now that he was well enough not to need a warlock's constant attention. Shel'yin had requested that she be allowed to sit in, and Veren had allowed it, but he now began to feel misgivings. _No one else here has a partner. If anyone else starts to see what I'm seeing, they'll think I'm showing her favoritism because she's with Shel'yin. _

"My raiders won't be sorry to leave this forest," Bladeleaper said bluntly. "The trees start to close in after a while. Especially now that it's winter."

Shel'yin grunted agreement. "The other warlocks feel the same," he said.

"No good going west, then," Glaive said. "Lots more forest that way. You go straight south, end up in Stonetalon Mountains."

"I don't think that would improve our circumstances," Veren said.

"Doubt it," Glaive said. She pulled her feet up and sat perched on the chair, hands grasping the seat. "Green Orcs northeast. They touchy 'bout demon Orcs, probably kill you quick as see you. You go southeast far enough, skip around the bottom of the Stonetalons, you end up in the Barrens. Lots of space there. No snow, either. Hot most times of the year."

"Is it a desert?" Shel'yin asked.

Glaive shrugged. "Don't think so. Not much water, but lots of grass. Only ever saw it once."

"If there's grass, water can't be scarcer than it is on Outland," Redmorning said.

"Ern'het and Ker'nai both have some dowsing skill," Shel'yin said. "We will find water. _If_ we can survive such a march in winter. Particularly with wounded, which we would certainly have."

Glaive sniffed. "Won't survive _here,_" she said. "Elves spread thinner than up North, but you in a lot of trouble soon as they find out you red Orcs. Get plenty down from the Moonglade before Spring."

"We may be able to find a place between here and there," Redmorning said. "It's clear that we'll have to make the attempt. Assuming most of us survive the next attack, that is. I've meant to speak to all of you about that. I've already talked to Lev."

"It is possible that the clan will survive," Shel'yin pronounced. "There will be heavy casualties, of course. Some of us in this room probably will die."

This very thing had been preying on Veren's mind every since his injury. Lying in the great hall, he'd had considerable time to think. _Every time we get into a serious fight, I end up a casualty. I'm probably the worst fighter ever to lead a clan._

"It's quite possible that one of those will be me," Veren Redmorning said.

The other Orcs looked at him in silence. Glaive inspected her fingernails.

"We all know that I'm nowhere near the best warrior here," Veren said. "So if anything should happen to me, I want you to follow Shel'yin. And I want you to see that no one tries to force either Glaive or Shadebreaker to leave."

"This my place now," Glaive said, showing her teeth in what might, just possibly, be a smile. "Not get rid of me easy."

Shel'yin raised a black eyebrow. "This is beside the point," he said. "I took an oath. If I permitted your death, I would not be fit to lead."

"We talked it over," Kerd Bladeleaper said. "You shouldn't be running around alone during battles, anyway."

Veren blinked. "That's the way it's always been done," he said.

"You should know better than that, Chieftain," Kerd said mildly. She scratched the side of her narrow jaw, where an old scar stretched the skin. "We're not going to get anywhere doing things the old way."

"In a group of berserks, if a leader falls, another may easily take his place," Shel'yin said. "But we are no longer savages. We require organization. You can provide that better than anyone else, and your death would be a significant blow to the clan."

"So we decided you need an honor guard," Bladeleaper said. "Someone to watch your back. So you can worry about tactics while we worry about the knife work."

"You still be fighting," Glaive said, overriding his objection. "Just less likely get killed right off. So not be saying any stupid Orcish thing about being coward."

Veren looked into three sets of eyes, two green and one black, and understood that the decision had already been made. _It would be just like Shel'yin to wait until the battle starts and then send someone over anyway._ Glaive did not look particularly interested in the discussion, but he was never sure with Glaive.

"Who did you have in mind?" he asked finally. "The clan can't spare its commanders for that kind of work. Especially you, Bladeleaper. If you're not mobile, you're not much good to us."

"That is why I asked that Kev'ran be present," Shel'yin said. "Given her particular strengths, I thought she would be an excellent choice. She is too small for most hand-to-hand, but her craft is excellent and her aim is better than mine. Better than any warlock in the clan, in fact. While she is near you, no enemy can reach you."

_And she'll be mostly out of harm's way, if I'm not running through the melee, _Veren thought_. Though that doesn't sound like Shel'yin's typical reasoning. _If this had occurred to the big warlock, it did not show anywhere on his face.

"And what if her mana runs out?" Veren said.

"That will be Loudwhisper's problem," Kev'ran said.

"Who?" Redmorning said.

Veren had forgotten the Orc in the doorway. He turned slowly as Redmorning spoke, until he faced into the room. He was not as tall as Shel'yin, but he was wider. His tunic strained at its seams, muscle bulging on every inch of visible skin. His eyes were very long and thin, green slits in his flat face.

"This is Dib Loudwhisper," Kerd said. "Lev chose him, and the rest of us agreed. He's strong, he's quick up close, and he keeps his head."

"That's high praise, coming from Kerd Bladeleaper. I would think you'd be needed with the footsoldiers," Veren said, eyeing the other Orc. "You ought to be worth your weight in dead enemies."

"Be a lot of dead enemies," Glaive said. She stood up on the wooden seat, inspecting the Orc critically. "He big as storm wyrm."

Dib Loudwhisper turned his head to look at the Elf. Veren was almost surprised when there was no grinding sound. _I wonder if Orcs and golems can breed. I'll wager he's heard that one too often._

"Can't run," Loudwhisper said. The reason for his name became obvious at once. He spoke in a very quiet, rasping bass, and every word seemed to be a strain. Redmorning received the impression that, while he might not be stupid, speaking was very difficult for him.

"No good at axe, either," the Orc said.

"Lev said the handles kept breaking," Kerd Bladeleaper explained. "And it's harder for him to avoid hitting the others. He's got quite a reach."

"Then what do you use for a weapon?" Veren Redmorning asked. Dib turned and reached down for something in the snow outside the doorway. He came up with a spiked club that seemed to have been made from the trunk of a small tree.

"This, Chieftain," Loudwhisper said.

"I see," Veren Redmorning said.

_Demons, _he thought_. That thing must weigh as much as I do. _

"I will be able to stay out of his way," Kev'ran said. "And he need concern himself with nothing else, since he will not be part of an ordinary battle line."

"Are you willing to work with Kev'ran?" Veren Redmorning asked. Some of the grunts were less than comfortable around the spellcasters, and one or two of the older ones were known to grumble about the female raiders.

"Glad to, Chieftain," Dib said.

"Then consider it settled," Verne Redmorning said.

"Good," Kerd Bladeleaper said. "Now that's over with, I had a question about the formation we've been talking about…"


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Two days later, the hammer fell.

The Orcs, expecting a night attack, were not taken completely by surprise. The Elves attacked just after sunset, ranks of huntresses pouring over the edges of the snow banks and down into the settlement proper. A few panthers foundered when the crust of ice cracked, but most skated up and over with ease. Behind them came the archers, scampering lightly over the snow. They took up positions on the inside of the hill, where they could fire down into the camp.

Then came the spellcasters. Two druids of the claw, two druids of the talon, and two dryads lined up along the crest of the bank, furthest from the watch towers.

None of it was unexpected. The peons ran for the burrows, the warlocks clustered near the great hall, and the grunts and raiders ran to engage the foe. Rokhyel Shadebreaker stood with the warlocks. Glaive disappeared.

Veren Redmorning stood behind the warlocks with his new bodyguards. He counted carefully as the panthers and wolves charged toward each other, both sets of riders grimly silent.

_Looks like about thirty huntresses and twenty archers, plus the others. Not good odds._

He glanced at his guards. Kev'ran stood quite still, eyes bleak and dark as always. Veren could read no expression on Loudwhisper's face. The huge Orc stood steady as a stone, his club held easily in one hand.

---

Shel'yin shouted a command. Fireballs roared toward the archers just as the first volley of arrows flew. Flame and wood met in midair, with predictable results. Most of the arrows were annihilated. Some of the fireballs went out. Many continued on toward their destination, and the archers scattered in the face of falling death.

---

Rokhyel Shadebreaker held his fire. Most of the warlocks did not notice. Shel'yin did, but he said nothing. Shadebreaker knew exactly why he had placed the Undead next to himself in the formation. _He does not trust me. _

The old knight leaned on his sword and waited. He had seen Night Elves fight before, and his memory of all that had passed since his death was as perfect as his memory of life was lacking. _And I have seen neither hippogryphs nor glaive throwers yet today._

"Won't that harm the steel?" Shel'yin asked from beside him. The Orc stood waiting for his mana to recharge, turning his staff in his hands. He looked at the Shadebreaker's sword where it rested point-down in the snow.

"This blade has not been sharp for more than thirty years," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "No rust may dull it. Nor can any armor turn back its edge."

He hated the sound of his own voice, though he had no recollection of what it had sounded like in life. His only memory of life was pain, and then the tearing of his soul from his flesh. That soul, and that pain, was still with him, though the flesh was long gone.

---

Glaive crept silently up the back side of the snow bank, belly to the ground. Above her, she heard the soft ringing as a druid of the claw cast rejuvenation on one of his sister warriors. Two Orcish raiders already whirled in the air at the top of cyclones, and the druids of the talon spun pale faerie fire over every Orc within reach. She could hear the dryads' soprano battle cries as she moved closer.

None seemed to have noticed the Elf creeping up behind them. She moved very slowly, to avoid attracting attention. She would stand out against the white snow, and she did not want them to see her before she was ready.

Glaive selected a short, thin-bladed knife from her belt. Then she crawled up next to the first dryad, rose silently to her feet, and plunged the blade into the soft spot at the base of the Elf's skull. She caught the spear as the dryad dropped it, turned smoothly, and neatly skewered the second one between her faun-ribs. A druid of the claw turned at the dying shriek, just in time to receive the broken glaive in his throat.

The remaining three Elves turned to stare at Glaive, shocked at the killing of three Elves in as many seconds. She squatted to retrieve her weapon, ignoring the resultant spurt of blood over her hand.

Two of the druids were unknown to Glaive. One was not.

"You!" hissed a druid of the talon. "What are you doing here?"

"The Orcs showed mercy, when you showed none," she said, in her own language. She wiped the broken blade on the dead druid's cloak, then rose easily to her feet. Her expression might have been a smile. But then, Fel stalkers are also known to smile.

"I am the blade of the clan now. I am the Glaive of the Tattered Banner."

---

Rokhyel Shadebreaker did not wait for long. Battle had been joined for perhaps three minutes when he heard the first distant flap of leathery wings. Then a shadow fell over the watchtowers some yards away, and peons ran for cover as a dragon with two heads swept down upon the camp. Both mouths spat, and a hissing and a stench rose from the nearest tower as its roof began to melt.

Then a second chimaera glided in from the _opposite _direction, heading for the melee of Orcs and huntresses. Some of the warlocks turned their attention to the giant reptile, but it was still too far away for their spells to reach it.

The Shadebreaker lifted his sword in one hand, drawing on a strength that knew nothing of muscle and sinew. He stalked around the edge of the group. All of the Orcs had better armor than he did. He knew, even as he began to wrap the dark mana around him, that the breath of the chimaera might so destroy his body that it could no longer anchor his undying self.

He had never known a lasting death. Nor had he known a day free from pain since the repossession of his body. Perhaps his time had come.

The chimaera, its attention fixed on the multiple prey below, did not notice the ragged skeleton as he stepped carefully through the snow. He stopped between the warlocks and the cavalry battle, heedless of the magic flying through the air around him. He raised the sword, letting it fall back over his shoulder. The Shadebreaker bowed his head as he drew up the mana into a tight helix around the notched blade. The magic hissed and fumed, bound in place by a will made powerful in its grim and grieving fury.

And then, when the power was wound so tightly that his entire body vibrated with it, he snapped the blade forward. The green-black coil shot through the air, opening as it went. The whipping strands curled around the chimaera's two heads.

No eye could see the single thread that led back to the Shadebreaker, but everyone heard the great beast's scream. It hurtled over the settlement and ploughed into the trees at the other side, snapping off trunks as it went. Nothing rose from the place where it came to rest.

---

"Twisting bloody Nether," Veren Redmorning said. "Did he just kill that thing with _one _spell?"

"I think so, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. "But… From what Shel'yin has told me, that should not be possible."

"He's obviously not like other Undead," Redmorning said thoughtfully.

A single archer ran swiftly around the edge of the group of warlocks and started to take aim at Redmorning. She shouted something in her own language, which was cut off abruptly as Kev'ran's fireball hit.

_I still know what she was saying, _Veren thought. _Kill the leader. _

It was difficult to tell how the battle was going. There were obvious casualties on both sides, and the grunts in particular had suffered in what was primarily a cavalry battle. He could see that Darksun and Bladeleaper had both managed to avoid any clever individuals like the one to whom Kev'ran had just set fire. Who, Redmorning noted, was still screaming.

"Loudwhisper," he said. "Will you - "

The giant Orc stepped forward and brought his club down in a short, swift arc. The screaming stopped.

"I see Glaive has been busy," Redmorning said, surveying the carnage on top of the bank. His warriors no longer had to concern themselves with the spellcasters, it was clear. _I count five bodies. I could swear there were six up there._

He supposed it was dimly possible one Elf could have deserted. _It's possible. But I doubt it. These are not a cowardly folk._

---

None of the Elves were inclined to take the dead one's advice. They were far too busy trying to stay alive in the face of an Orcish force with unexpectedly powerful armor. And now there was no one to heal them, and no one to dispel the crippling mana thrown at them by the warlocks.

The surviving chimaera heard. And if its intelligence was slightly less than human, it was certainly more than animal. It turned its attention from the watchtower it had just finished demolishing, seeking a suitable target.

---

Rokhyel Shadebreaker saw the second beast turn toward the great hall, its great wings working furiously as it cast about with both heads and all four eyes.

He had used nearly all his mana. What he had left would not be enough to kill another such creature. He thought, as he began to wind up all the power that was left to him, that he was probably about to come to the end of an unlife that had been longer than his mortal one.

_I bound myself to this Orc, _the Shadebreaker thought_. And in all of Azeroth I have nothing but a living soul and a dead body. I will not dishonor one to keep the other._


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Veren Redmorning saw the chimaera as it turned from the watchtower and started toward him.

"Kev'ran," he said.

"Yes, Chieftain."

"How much mana do you have left?"

"I have a little, Chieftain. Enough for one fireball or the frenzy, perhaps." Kev'ran was not looking at the chimaera, but he was sure she had seen it. It was impossible to miss. _Especially now that it's getting closer._

"One fireball isn't going to kill a dragon," Veren said. "And I doubt whether my bladestorm will reach that high." He had to speak louder, to be heard over the rush of giant wings.

"Loudwhisper and I discussed the possibility that something like this might happen," Kev'ran said.

"Oh, yes?" Veren said.

The chimaera's two mouths glowed faintly green. Redmorning received the impression that it was magic, not fire, which made the light, but he doubted he would ever know.

"You should windwalk now, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. Her voice was quite calm. Veren caught the metallic smell of magic as she began to call up her last spell.

"Safest there," Loudwhisper said, straining to be heard as he gestured toward the group of warlocks in front and to the right.

Veren Redmorning swore quietly. _In other words, for them to do their job, I have to be willing to run away while the two of them get killed._

But, for all that Veren knew himself to be small, insecure, and not a particularly good fighter, he also knew one other thing. He was an Orc.

_I'm not going to do it. _

He made himself invisible, to forestall further argument, but did not move away. Kev'ran would not be able to see him. _At least I can try with the blades. It'll do as much good as anything Loudwhisper can do, with that thing so far off the ground._

He had lost sight of Rokhyel Shadebreaker as he talked to his bodyguards. Now, through the blue haze of the windwalk, he saw the tall skeleton stalk around the edge of the warlocks. Some of the spellcasters rearranged themselves to take shots at the chimaera, but most had to give all their attention to assisting the raiders and grunts, and by now few had much mana.

Shadebreaker stopped a few yards in front of them. A cold breeze whipped his cloak around his naked ankle bones as he raised his sword up over one shoulder. Hairs rose along the back of Veren's neck as he saw the coil of green-black light begin to form around the blade.

"I hope Shel'yin is watching this," Kev'ran said. "Someone should remember that the dead man kept his word. For all the good it will do us."

"Yeah," Loudwhisper said.

And then the chimaera stooped down toward the skeleton, and they both cast at the same time. The coil of death and the blast of green passed each other in the air. Both struck their targets at almost the same time.

The chimaera reeled in the air as the black threads tangled its two heads, and an unearthly scream split the winter air. Blood ran from the corners of its mouths, but it stayed in the air.

Or it would have, if not for Kev'ran's fireball.

"Demons," Veren said, but the sound was completely lost in the roar of the flame. By the time it hit the chimaera, the sphere must have been two yards across, glowing with a blood-red corona.

The creature's blood seemed to ignite as the flame struck it, sending up a green flare around its heads. It reeled in midair, then careened over the great hall. Redmorning did not see it impact, but he felt the ground shake.

Veren Redmorning dropped his invisibility in time to catch Kev'ran as she started to sag. Loudwhisper looked from them to the battle.

"I've got her," Redmorning said. "You worry about whatever else is out there."

"Yes, Chieftain," the Orc said.

Kev'ran pushed away from him after a moment, but he felt that she was shaking.

"Are you all right, Warlock?"

"I will be, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. "But I fear the Shadebreaker will not."

Redmorning looked back at the skeleton, and winced.

Rokhyel Shadebreaker knelt in a bare patch where snow had been. His cloak was gone, not even rags remaining. His tunic of mail glowed slightly green, still heated by the chimaera's breath. All of his bones that Veren could see glowed as well, and cracks began to form in the surface as he watched. _It looks like he's about to fall apart._

"Isn't there anything we can do for him?" Redmorning asked. "He's saved more than one life."

"I'm afraid not," Kev'ran said. "None of us would know what to do."

It was at that moment that Glaive ran around the corner of the great hall. A dismounted huntress ran after her, shrieking with fury as she tried to swing a short sword at the other Elf.

"Dead man!" Glaive shouted in Orcish.

Rokhyel Shadebreaker turned on his knees, and Redmorning saw that one of his arms was gone. One side of his jaw hung loose, and cracks spread from the edges of his sockets. The light inside them was still very bright, and a dark haze seemed to hang around him.

_He's already growing back mana. That's bloody fast, _Redmorning thought.

"Brought you something," Glaive announced, and pulled up a yard or so from the Undead. She turned and casually parried a wild swing from the huntress.

_"Whhhaaat?" _Veren never forgot the sound of that voice. If it had seemed hollow before, now it was cavernous, seemingly echoing from far beneath the earth.

"Get better when you kill," Glaive said. "I saw you." She slid to one side to avoid another cut. Then she used her broken glaive to parry an unexpected stab. The huntress had managed to draw her belt knife with her other hand.

_"_You do nnnot… Underssstand… what you are sssaying_," _Shadebreaker said. His voice was more normal, but Redmorning could tell it took terrible effort.

Glaive shrugged. "She gonna die anyway," she said. "You feel better, you be saving my life?" She dropped her hand for a moment, and the huntress lunged for the opening. Glaive blocked the blow, but barely. She grinned into her adversary's face, then ducked an elbow swing. She jabbed the other Elf in the ribs with a stiffened hand as she disengaged.

The huntress was broader of shoulder than Glaive, and she wore full armor, but Veren Redmorning had no doubt at all about what was happening. _She's playing with her_. _It's another game, just like all the others._

"You would offer me… Another life… Just like that?" The Undead reached for his sword and levered himself to his feet. Or rather, to one foot, because the other one dissolved into powder when he put weight on it.

"Offer you mine, if you want it," Glaive said. She turned slowly as the huntress circled her. "I owe it. But I rather not be dead, if you willing to take somebody else."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker made a sound, a hiss and a soft rattle. A plate of his skull puffed into dust and drifted away, showing nothing but green light underneath. Veren thought he heard him say something, then, but he was never sure.

One skeletal hand shot forward. A very small coil flew from the Undead to the huntress. She started to throw a knife. Glaive's hand caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip as the black threads closed around her helmet, winding into flesh and bone. Glaive watched with apparent unconcern as one tendril of blackness sought her fingers.

She let go when the huntress began to fall. Redmorning saw this peripherally, because he was busy watching the Shadebreaker. The transformation was swift. Bones knit with uncanny accuracy, missing bits coalescing out of nothing to piece themselves back together. Cracks crawled backwards like retreating spiders, leaving clean surfaces behind. Even the old cloak spun up out of nowhere. The shreds of fabric formed a small tornado that became a whole garment as they settled on Rokhyel Shadebreaker.

"Didn't hurt," Glaive said, wriggling her fingers experimentally.

"No," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "I did not allow it."

"How did you know, Glaive?" Veren Redmorning said. "No one else noticed."

"'Cause I not blind, like Orcs," Glaive said. She knelt beside the dead huntress and rummaged briefly, then came up with the throwing knife. She stuck it in her belt as she rose easily to her feet. "I got something for you, too, soon as we done here."

She waved a hand toward the snow barrier, which was now more red than white. The remaining Night Elves seemed to be making an orderly retreat. Darksun and Bladeleaper held their troops back, letting the enemy go.

"They got no magic, got no chimaera," Glaive said. "And they not expect so few Orcs be so tough. They run home, for now."

"Good," Veren Redmorning said. "We don't have enough Orcs to hunt them all down."

He surveyed the field of battle, silently counting bodies. _We lost a few, but it looks like we've got more wounded than dead. And they lost more than we did._

Redmorning supposed he should be proud of this. _But it doesn't really matter. It's not a victory unless we've got enough left to survive the journey South. We've got a long road ahead of us._

He turned toward his commanders with the weight of his post settling on his shoulders like a vest made of lead. But even then, he had time for one last thought:

_Did I really hear him say "I'm not ready yet?"_


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Shel'yin approached first, after Glaive scampered off to get whatever it was she had "found." A pair of faint pink rings circled the tall Orc as he approached, making him very visible in the dark.

"We lost no warlocks, Chieftain," he said. "The battle seldom came near us. Two were wounded by arrows, but they can still walk without help."

"That's excellent news," Veren Redmorning said. "And excellent work that you did tonight. Tell the other warlocks I said so."

Shel'yin bowed. "I will do so."

"And what, exactly, is the pink thing?" Veren asked.

Shel'yin shrugged irritably. "It is faerie fire. It will pass in a few moments."

"_You _managed to get hit by an enemy spell?"

"It is difficult to elude them when surrounded by other warlocks," Shel'yin said stiffly. Redmorning smiled.

"Sure it is," he said.

Shel'yin's green gaze flickered over him and came to rest on Kev'ran, but he said nothing.

"Kev'ran and Loudwhisper served well," Veren Redmorning said. "It seems your recommendation was a wise one."

"Be no good, without the dead man," Loudwhisper said.

"We owe our lives to the Shadebreaker," Kev'ran said quietly. "Without his help, the Chieftain would certainly have been killed." Her eyes were black as black, giving back no reflection from the newly-lit watch fires.

"It seems I was in error," Shel'yin said grudgingly, still looking at the smaller warlock. "As I often am, when I disagree with Kev'ran."

"You know, pink really doesn't suit you," Redmorning said. Shel'yin snorted and turned to leave. He did not look at Kev'ran again, nor did she watch him go.

Darksun and Bladeleaper came up through the flickering darkness as Shel'yin went. Bladeleaper had managed to escape nearly unscathed once again, though her shoulder armor was dented. The wolf Lightrunner came licking blood from his chops, a red light still in his eyes.

Lev Darksun had not been so fortunate. He walked beside Gedu Pouncefaster's wolf, holding to the raider's trouser leg for balance. His left arm hung limp and useless, and the tunic sleeve was shredded and bloody.

"Demons, Lev," Redmorning said. "What happened to you?"

Lev muttered something inaudible, but almost certainly obscene.

"What happened is he cut a rider out of the saddle and her cat turned around and almost bit his arm off," Gedu said smugly. "Popped his shoulder clean out of the socket."

"Cut its bloody head off and it wouldn't bloody let go," Lev growled. "Pouncefaster had to pry it off."

"Would've served you right if I'd left it there," Gedu informed him.

"Bloody insubordinate," Lev said.

He did not seem to notice Dib Loudwhisper edging around past Redmorning, though this was comparable to not noticing a storm wyrm hiding behind a daisy.

"No, it's not, 'cause you're not _my _commander," Gedu said. "_My _commander is the one sitting over there without a stain on her shirt."

"We lost two raiders and five grunts, Chieftain," Kerd Bladeleaper said, ignoring them. "And four more grunts have injuries like Lev's, or worse. Infantry in a cavalry fight."

Lev raised one hairy eyebrow, too focused on Kerd to notice Loudwhisper reaching for his dislocated arm. "Cavalry fight, my _RRRRNNNGH WHAT THE BLOODY TWISTING_…"

Dib Loudwhisper removed his meaty hands from Lev's shoulder. Veren had heard the _pop_ of the joint coming together again. The swearing trailed off gradually as Lev realized his arm was still attached.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Lev asked finally. He moved the arm carefully. "Even Bladeleaper doesn't always get it right on the first try."

"Father had bad shoulders," Loudwhisper said, calmly wiping his bloody hand on his trousers. "'Fore the Draenei got him. Mum used to do it."

"She must have been a strong Orc," Veren Redmorning said.

Loudwhisper shrugged his enormous shoulders. "She's a grunt," he said.

"Really?" Redmorning said. "Which one?"

"Bit Felthunder, Chieftain," Dib said.

Lev blinked. "Bit Felthunder is a _woman?_"

"You're just jealous 'cause she's bigger than you," Gedu Pouncefaster said. "Come on, let's go patch up your arm. If that's all right, Chieftain?"

"Yes, of course," Redmorning said.

"Got present for you, Chieftain!"

Redmorning turned to see Glaive round the corner of the great hall. She held a short sword in her hand, and behind her walked a Night Elf with his hands bound. Rokhyel Shadebreaker paced behind them, tall and silent.

_Now what? _Veren Redmorning wondered.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Glaive," Veren Redmorning said tiredly. "What are we supposed to do with a prisoner? We're getting ready to move."

He had come to think of Glaive as tall, but the druid was taller. Even without his cloak, which seemed to have fallen off, he was as wide across the shoulders as Darksun.

"He useful prisoner to have around," Glaive said. "Hey, Lev, what happen to your arm?"

"Nothing," Lev said.

"A cat bit it," Gedu said. Lev aimed a swat at her, which she ducked easily.

"Cut its head off with axe, didn't you," Glaive said smugly. "Can't make Nightsabre let go that way. Big dumb Orc."

"At least I didn't get knocked cold by a tree," Lev said.

"Should be nice to me, you want you arm fixed," Glaive said. She turned to the druid and said something in her own language. He growled back. Glaive clicked her tongue. She spun the short sword on the tip of one finger, the edge glittering in the dim light. The druid watched with more evidence of anger than fear. After a moment, he said something resigned. Glaive cut his bonds with one swift stroke.

The druid clapped his hands together over his head. Yellow rings spun up around Lev Darksun. The Orc stared down at his arm as the bite marks crept closed.

"Hey," he said. "It stopped hurting."

"Druid heal you wounded," Glaive said. "Ones going to die mostly already dead. You be ready to move a lot faster, this way."

"And _then _what do we do with him?" Redmorning said.

Glaive smiled ferally. "He think you gonna kill him, 'cause you red Orcs. Think maybe you sacrifice him to demons."

Kerd Bladeleaper made a derisive noise. "If that's all for now, Chieftain…"

"Yes, go on, you two," Redmorning waved them away. "Good to see you made it, Pouncefaster. How's the leg?"

"Fine, Chieftain," Gedu said cheerily, and trotted her wolf off with Lev in tow.

"You want me kill druid later?" Glaive asked, in a tone of mild disinterest. "Do it Orc-fashion, quick-quick. Unless Shadebreaker want him."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker raised his hooded head. Green light glittered in the shadow. "That is disgusting."

The druid looked behind him, startled at the sepulchral voice. Redmorning received the impression that he had not expected Shadebreaker to be able to speak.

"Sorry," Glaive said unrepentantly. "I forgot you old knight, think bad kill enemy when he not trying to kill you. All same," she said to Veren. "You let Elf go, he tell others you direction."

"Then we'll have to take him with us," Redmorning said. "I don't have time to think of something better at the moment, especially when my warriors need his help. Tell him I'll see he's not harmed if he cooperates."

"Won't believe you," Glaive said, but she relayed the message. The druid looked at Veren for a long moment. Then he shrugged.

"Ask him his name," Redmorning said.

"Arinagh," the druid said, before Glaive could speak.

"You speak Orcish?" Redmorning said.

The druid said something in an Elvish tongue.

"Understand a few words," Glaive translated. "He says not much. Maybe telling the truth."

"For now, it doesn't matter," Redmorning said. "Take him where he's needed. And Glaive, you go with him. Watch him."

"He give no trouble," Glaive said, with satisfaction. "Still got bad headache. Not so easy heal _that._"

Veren rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I mean that if anything happens _to _him, I'm holding you responsible," he said. "Do you understand?"

"Oh." Glaive cocked her head at him. "Yeah, Chieftain. I do what you say."

And, for the first time Redmorning had ever seen, she bowed.

---

Prisoner and guard walked among the Orcs. Rokhyel Shadebreaker came behind them, a patient shadow like the avatar of Death.

The druid worked in silence. There was actually not very much for him to do. As Glaive had said, most of the very seriously wounded had already died in the cold night. Only two or three others had wounds that would hinder their movement.

An hour or so later, Arinagh finished healing a peon's arrow wound and turned to Glaive.

"That's all, for now," she said in her own language. "Move about the camp, if you wish, but I'll be watching you. If you attempt to escape, or attack the Orcs or the death knight, I will kill you."

"I understand," Arinagh said quietly. Glaive could tell, with senses an Orc did not possess and probably would not understand, that his mana was completely exhausted. He would not be turning into a bear any time soon.

"You needn't worry," Glaive said. "Veren Redmorning's word is good."

"It doesn't matter what happens to me," the druid said.

"I couldn't agree more," Glaive said. "But I will carry out my Chieftain's orders."

"Why?" the druid lowered his heavy head and looked into her face. "What do you hope to gain? His people are few. They won't survive long."

Glaive settled her weight on one hip. "He saved my life. I saved his."

"You would not hold yourself bloodbound," Arinagh said, without rancor. "You do not recognize honor."

Glaive smiled. "That's so. Though you're a brave druid to say it. No, I don't serve the Orcs because they saved me, or because they are strong or many. I serve because they are mine. I have nothing in this world except my life, a broken blade, and the people of Veren Redmorning. I will not give up the last until I lose the first."

"And what about that?" Arinagh looked at Rokhyel Shadebreaker. Glaive watched lights kindle under the hood as the Shadebreaker looked back. "What's it doing here? Why has it not fallen to pieces?"

"He's a knight of old Alterac," Glaive said.

"I do not see how that could be," Arinagh said. "Perhaps you're too young to know the history of the first wars, but the old death knights were possessed by the spirits of Orcs."

"He's no Orc," Glaive said. "I'll wager he stole his body back from one. I think that's why he calls himself the Shadebreaker. For myself, I don't really care where he came from, nor why."

"No, I begin to see that you would not," Arinagh said slowly. "You know the past, the future are there, but you don't _feel _them. You do not sense the flow of time. It's why you kill so quickly, so easily. You cannot sense that the other will feel pain, or that you yourself might be killed. There is only _now._"

Glaive looked up at the druid, startled. No Elf had ever spoken to her that way. She was used to anger, or disdain, or the inevitable revulsion when they realized what she was.

"You see why experienced fighters fall before me," she said after a moment. "Even one your age, and I can tell you're centuries older than I am. I am not what I have learned. I'm what I was born."

"You could have been a great warrior for your people," Arinagh said.

Glaive shrugged. "There is no _could have,_ Arinagh the Druid. Not even for one who sees as keenly as you. And I will be a great warrior for _my _people."

She turned and looked back at the death knight, who still waited patiently behind them. Glaive fingered the old scars on her cheek, neat lines from neat weapons.

"They not beautiful," she said in Orcish. "But they mine."


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Merd Quickdigger came to Redmorning just after dawn. He had a scratch along one arm, but that was all. He nodded at the bodyguards in a friendly way.

"Hallo, Loudwhisper. 'Bout ready to move, Chieftain," he said. "Got everything loaded up. Got two piles of dead. Set them to burn before we go. Elves not got much we can use. Clothes the wrong shape. Got a few weird potions for the warlocks to look at. I gave those to Master Shel'yin. I separated out the weapons, if you want to look, Chieftain."

Redmorning was struck by a sudden thought.

"How many throwing glaives were there?"

"Twenty-odd," Merd said. "We didn't kill but twenty of those cat-riders, but some of 'em were carrying more than one."

"All right. Get your people formed up and ready to go. Darksun and Bladeleaper will form up our traveling defense as soon as you're in formation. Have we still got any catapults?"

"Got two, Chieftain," Merd said. "Big dragon-thing melted the other one. Wish we had time to skin them, but you know how it is. Anyhow, we using catapults to pull travois. Weren't much good today, since the Elves didn't show up with those arrow-throwers."

"Good," Veren Redmorning said. "Have someone send Glaive over here, will you?"

"Yeah, Chieftain," Quickdigger said, and moved off.

Glaive sauntered over a minute or so later. The druid Arinagh followed her, moving slowly. His skin seemed more gray than violet, and he had wiped the stripes of white paint from his face. Rokhyel Shadebreaker walked beside him.

"You want me, Chieftain?" Glaive said. She showed no signs of fatigue. Redmorning occasionally wondered if she ever slept at all.

"Could you teach Orcs to throw glaives?" Redmorning said.

"Nope," Glaive said immediately. "Not all Orcs, anyhow. Not easy weapon to use. You throw wrong, you lose finger. Catch wrong, lose hand. Elves spend long time training before use them in fight."

"How long did you spend?" Redmorning asked.

Glaive grinned. "Five years," she said. "Join Sentinels when I four tens old. Five years basic. Then go to new Leafdancer to train for huntress. Things not go so well from there."

The druid must have understood some of this. He turned to look down at Glaive with something like surprise. _Meaning Glaive is better than she should be, for only basic training with this weapon._

"Mm hmm," Redmorning said. "Could you teach Kev'ran?"

Glaive looked at the warlock critically. "She got quick hands," Glaive said. "Good aim. Not very strong, for Orc, but plenty strong enough use glaive. If she not mind learn from Elf."

"I would consider it a privilege," Kev'ran said.

"Then go tell Merd how many you need, Glaive," Redmorning said. "He'll load them with the other extra weapons. Shadebreaker, I'd like to speak to you once we've got our caravan moving."

"Yes, Chieftain," the old knight said. Glaive was already gone again, with the druid lumbering after her.

Not long after, the Tattered Banner was on the move. The small column of Orcs ghosted through the trees, the pale sun gleaming on dark red skin. The wooden wheels of the catapults creaked faintly, and the travois hissed over the surface of the snow. Since there were only three catapults, some of the rough sledges were pulled by wolf teams. Veren saw spiders as big as beavers sitting among the bundles, huddled up against the cold. Not one was tethered. _Looks like Merd's people have managed to tame them._

The grunt Begrin Hardbounder carried the clan's gray flag strapped to his back. He walked not far from Veren Redmorning, close to the center of the column. Redmorning was quietly pleased at the care and pride with which the other Orc carried out his task. _It's not a beautiful banner. But it's ours._

Loudwhisper and Kev'ran walked to either side of him. Redmorning's surreptitious observation caught Kev'ran stumbling more than once. She made no complaint, and when she staggered, Loudwhisper caught her.

_She's not the only one. We're looking at a hard fight followed by a hard march, and not everyone had as easy a night as I did._ Thanks to Glaive and her prisoner, they had no wounded, but fatigue could be just as dangerous.

They had traveled perhaps a mile from the settlement when Rokhyel Shadebreaker moved up beside Veren.

"You wished to see me, Chieftain," the Shadebreaker said.

"I owe you my thanks," Veren Redmorning said. "And so does the clan."

The Shadebreaker paced alongside Veren, using his sword as a walking stick. "Your bodyguard deserves more thanks than do I. I cannot continue in this form without the taking of life."

"None of us can," Redmorning said. "I didn't find the skins I'm wearing lying around in the snow, Rokhyel Shadebreaker. Everything lives by killing something else, whether it's animals, plants, or…"

"Or Elves?" the Shadebreaker said. "Yes. You see the flaw in your own argument, Chieftain Redmorning. It is possible for me to continue by taking animal lives, but it takes a great many, or the animal must very be large."

Loudwhisper made a muffled sound. Veren looked at him.

"Same as me," he said. "Eat probably five times as much as Kev'ran."

Kev'ran chuckled. "I have seen him," she said.

"And I've seen you, Shadebreaker," Veren Redmorning said. "You can kill. So can everyone here, because those who couldn't are dead. But you don't like it."

The dead man looked down at Veren from dark and empty sockets.

"I cannot imagine how you could tell," he said.

"We made him Chieftain for a reason," said Kev'ran.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

_At least I need not worry that he will try to escape. _Glaive watched impassively as Arinagh struggled on, step by step. He moved slowly, but his strides were long enough that they had not yet fallen behind.

She was tired as well, but she had not spent herself in magic as well as physical work.

"You will not be able to walk the entire day," Glaive said.

"I will walk as long as I have to," Arinagh said. A couple of nearby raiders looked at them, and then away. No doubt they wondered what the Elves were saying, but most of the Orcs no longer doubted Glaive's loyalty.

_Of course, it's more because the Chieftain put me in charge of the prisoner than because they trust me._

"I'm responsible for you," Glaive said. "I'd rather you didn't collapse, since it would be difficult for me to load you onto a travois."

"Because your Chieftain would not wish you to leave me in the snow?" Arinagh inquired, between deep breaths.

"It would have a certain symmetry," Glaive said. "If I were the kind to hold a grudge."

"I wasn't at your trial," Arinagh said. "But I heard of what happened. Why did you do it?"

"I'm sure you have a theory," Glaive said absently, watching Rokhyel Shadebreaker talk to the Chieftain further up the column. A moment later, he turned and moved back toward them.

"Perhaps she annoyed you," the druid said.

Glaive smiled very slightly. "What, you don't think it was for revenge?"

"I don't believe you comprehend revenge any more than you do honor," Arinagh said.

"You might be right," Glaive said. "But the fact of the matter is that they planned to give me a beating. I didn't plan to take one."

"She was a veteran of a thousand years," the druid said. "You couldn't have killed her fairly." He watched the Shadebreaker warily as the skeleton turned to walk beside them.

"And how many years a veteran were you, before I laid you out in the snow?" She nodded to the dead man and smiled. He nodded back.

"Besides," Glaive said. "How exactly could I have cheated? D'you think I took all three of them by surprise? You think that would have worked, against a Leafdancer? And if I'd used a poisoned weapon, it would have been found."

"Yet you were found guilty," Arinagh said.

Glaive snorted. "I would have been found guilty even if she'd had an apoplexy, Arinagh the Druid."

"You mean that the precedent was judged too dangerous to allow," Rokhyel the Shadebreaker said, in passable Elvish. The druid stared.

"Yes," Glaive said. "I hadn't been there long enough to promote. I wasn't willing to leave. And the effect on morale would have been intolerable if I'd stayed."

"It is forbidden to teach our language to an outsider," Arinagh said, still staring at the Shadebreaker.

"I did not learn it from Glaive," Shadebreaker said.

"You must be a quick study," Glaive said. "You speak it better than I speak either Orcish or Common."

"Since my death, I can no longer forget what I see or hear."

"Then your fate is worse than I thought," Arinagh the Druid said.

"Perhaps," Shadebreaker said. The last sibilant stretched out into a hiss. "I would consider it infinitely worse to have allowed my enemy to keep this body for his own use."

"That I understand," Glaive said, thinking of the scars that crisscrossed her body in ridges, careful as embroidery. _I am changed beyond the recognition of those few who knew me. But I would not willingly give up this form, nor trade it._

The Shadebreaker's skull moved under his hood. "Perhaps you do."

They walked in silence for a while. Arinagh's breathing became more audible as they went. Eventually he said,

"Seven… Hundred years."

"What?" Glaive said.

"I was a veteran… Seven hundred years."

---

"Chieftain?"

Redmorning looked up as a raider trotted her mount out of the woods beside him. His bodyguards inspected her for a second, then went back to walking.

"Yes, Raider? Vel Dirksnapper, isn't it?"

"Yes, Chieftain," the raider said. She bowed from her seat on the wolf. "Commander Bladeleaper sent me. She thinks she's found a place we can stop until nightfall, if you wish. Our longest patrols found it once before, while we were living in the settlement. It's a cave, near a river."

"How large a cave?" Redmorning glanced back down the length of the column. "Will it hold forty-odd plus baggage?"

"Kerd says it will," Dirksnapper said. "The cave mouth is small, but it opens up inside. There's something growing inside that glows, so we'll be able to see."

"Excellent," Redmorning said. "Pass that on down the column before you report back to Kerd. Tell her I depend on her experience, as always."


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

By noon, the exhausted Orcs had formed a half-circle outside the mouth of the cave. The entrance was small, perhaps large enough to admit two or three riders side by side. The dim sun raised a cold glitter on the snow around the cave mouth.

Redmorning looked at his people. Some of them leaned on their weapons, or on rough staves they had cut. But no one sat down, nor leaned on the travois. Not even the Elvish druid, though he was obviously swaying with fatigue.

"Here comes the Bladeleaper," Kev'ran said. Shel'yin, standing beside them with Lev Darksun, looked at her in surprise.

"I cannot hear anything," he said.

Kev'ran shrugged. A moment later, Kerd shot from the cave mouth and jerked her mount sharply to the right. Two or three black arrows fell harmlessly into the snow where she had been.

Redmorning found himself looking at Loudwhisper's back. This allowed roughly the same view as standing behind the town hall. He lost sight of Shel'yin and Darksun as they moved forward. Mana hummed in the air.

Silence stretched on for several seconds. Finally, Dib grunted and moved out of the way, to reveal Bladeleaper trotting toward them. The Orcs had drawn back from the cave mouth. Warlocks stood behind the travois, staves at the ready.

"What happened, Kerd?" Veren asked.

"Looks like we didn't explore far enough in when we were here last time," Kerd said. "There's a couple of dozen skeletons with bows and arrows. Some of them are pretty big."

"Orcish skeletons?" Redmorning said, even as one sector of his mind registered, _And she came out of there unmarked? Demons, her luck is insane._

"I don't think so. The light is pretty dim, though."

"Who would go into a cave, raise a group of skeletons, and leave?" Redmorning wondered. "They'll just fall to pieces sooner or later, won't they?"

"Only if they were summoned," Shel'yin said. "If they have risen on their own, they will remain until they are destroyed."

"Explains why nobody's living in a cave this size with water close by," Lev Darksun said. "Knew it was too good to be true."

"What do you mean, risen on their own?" Redmorning asked. Shel'yin turned to look at the cave mouth. A dim green light issued from inside, but nothing moved. Hairs rose along the back of Redmorning's neck.

"Nel'hesh once told me that where there is much mana, dead bodies sometimes reanimate without summoning. The darker the power, the truer this is."

"I never saw that on Outland," Veren said.

"I did," Kev'ran said. "Once my clan attacked a village of Draenei that was near a gate into the Nether. Some of the dead of both sides rose and fought. But they were mindless. They attacked whatever was nearby. The Draenei were obliterated, but we were nearly wiped out as well."

"So that's what happened to the Black Tooth Grin," Lev Darksun said.

"But…" Redmorning considered for a moment. "These – Elves? Humans? – died with their weapons. What killed them? And where's all the mana coming from? Surely it can't be natural."

"It is not natural," Shel'yin said. "I feel it. This power belongs more to fire and the dead than to Ashenvale."

_I guess that explains why I see so many eyes glowing all of a sudden. _Shel'yin's eyes definitely shone green in the pale sun, and Dib Loudwhisper showed a gleam of red. Kev'ran's were still black.

_I wonder what _my _eyes look like right now._

"We still need shelter," Redmorning said, half to himself. "No one here can go much further today. And if we're going to be pursued, we need a place to defend ourselves. Until it snows again, our trail is plain. Someone has to go back in," he concluded firmly.

"_Not _you, Chieftain," Shel'yin said at once. "You would be killed immediately."

"And don't think you will get past Loudwhisper and myself if you try to windwalk," Kev'ran said, no doubt observing the speculative look in her Chieftain's eye.

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," Veren said dryly. _As tired as I am now, I doubt I could concentrate that long anyway. _"Bladeleaper," Redmorning said. "How dark is it in there?"

Kerd shrugged. "I could make out shapes. Lightrunner didn't trip or anything, but I think that's more because he's used to sneaking around in the dark. They're right, though. You wouldn't be able to see if you windwalked. And the mana's too strange, anyway."

"And our warriors are tired, and you and Lev have both done far too much today already," Veren said. "…Shut up, Lev."

_So I need someone with very good hearing, or very good night vision, or both. Someone who isn't so tired they'll get killed. Someone who can take on a dozen skeleton archers in the dark._

He remembered a day, seemingly ages ago now, when a lone warrior had killed twelve archers.

"Glaive could do it," he said. "But I'd rather have her stay with our prisoner."

_And now isn't a bad time for another test._

"Kerd," Redmorning said. "Would you ask Rokhyel Shadebreaker to come here, please?"

"It is not wise to send an Undead into a source of dark power," Shel'yin growled as Kerd and Lightrunner padded off. His voice seemed to have taken on a strange harmonic. Redmorning looked at him, startled.

"You had made up your mind to trust the Shadebreaker before," Kev'ran said. "It is possible you are affected by the atmosphere yourself."

"Do not be ridiculous," Shel'yin snapped, whirling on the smaller Warlock. "It has nothing to do with - " He cut off suddenly as he stared into Kev'ran's eyes. Perhaps he saw the reflection of his own in the surfaces, black and shining like ink. He took a step back.

"She's right," Loudwhisper said, and Redmorning heard the same not-quite-sound in his rumbling voice.

"Demons," Veren Redmorning said. "If it's affecting all of us…" _Then there's no way I can trust my own judgment. We'll have to move on, no matter what it costs us._

"Not all," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. He stopped in front of the Orcs. His hood hung down and covered his sockets, and the sun blanched the bones of his hands whiter than white. "Look at your Chieftain and his guard."

Redmorning found himself the object of a great many pairs of glowing eyes.

"What is it?" he said.

"The dead man speaks the truth," Shel'yin said, with obvious difficulty. "Your eyes are still dark. The power does not reach you."

"How is that possible?"

"I think I know," Kev'ran said. "I will explain later, Chieftain, if you wish. What about you, Rokhyel Shadebreaker?"

The old knight pushed back his hood. Green light glowed brightly from his sockets, wreathing his skull in a sickly flame.

"I have no flesh," he said. "The power may burn these bones to ashes, but it cannot control me."

"Then are you willing to undertake this for the clan, Rokhyel Shadebreaker?" Redmorning explained about the skeletons.

"Yes, Chieftain," the Shadebreaker said. "But if I do not return, I do not recommend that you send anyone else."

And with that, he turned and strode into the mouth of the cave.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"At least I won't be a prisoner of war much longer," the druid Arinagh said. "I suppose I will likely be killed with the rest of you."

Glaive watched the cave entrance. The Orcs stirred restlessly around her, pacing against the tide of dark mana. Their eyes glowed green or red, and only a very few had the tired black stare of the Chieftain and the smallest warlock.

From the corner of her eye, Glaive saw the other Elf looking at her.

"You care what happens to this dead human?" Arinagh said. His voice was dull, spent, but his eyes were still sharp.

"I think so," Glaive said mildly. "I've no way to compare what I feel to what anyone else does."

"Yet you're not the monster I thought you were," Arinagh said. "You are not kind. But you're not cruel. You don't enjoy others' pain. That would require you to understand pain more deeply than I think you're able to do."

Glaive lifted one shoulder. "There's no use talking about it, Arinagh the Druid."

"But it doesn't make you angry when I do," Arinagh said.

"Why should it? It's true, as far as I know."

---

Veren Redmorning stood between his guards and waited. _I hope I was right to send the Shadebreaker. Will the clan recognize why I sent an Undead, instead of an Orc? Or will they believe that I no longer trust in their strength?_

"Loudwhisper," he said, to give himself something else to think about. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Chieftain," Dib Loudwhisper said. "Want to kill things, but still sitting on it okay."

Lev Darksun seemed all right as well, though he occasionally shifted from foot to foot. Kerd Bladeleaper had gone back to talk to her raiders. Shel'yin stood with his face averted, panting silently. It was the first time Redmorning had ever seen him breathe hard. _His eyes glow most of the time anyway. Does that mean…?_

"Kev'ran," Veren said. "Tell me why you and I are exempt."

"I am not completely sure," she said lowly. "I think it is because we began to fight off the demon's influence before Magtheridon's death. I know that I had thoughts I could not explain, long before our bondage was lifted. Did you, Chieftain?"

"Yes," Veren said. "I did. But why us?" He lowered his voice. "Why not Shel'yin, or Kerd, or Lev?"

"I wish I knew," Kev'ran said. Her voice had fallen almost to a whisper. "And sometimes I wish it were otherwise. I feel so very tired, all of the time. As if there is no end to fighting it, or…" She shook her head. "As if it came from inside, instead of from the demon."

"Yes," Redmorning said. "I understand. It's as if - "

Veren was never able to describe what happened then. He felt the dark mana in the air, grinding at his nerves like a dull razor, but it suddenly rose to a nerve-wrangling pitch that was still completely soundless. He stood frozen, convinced that if he moved something would sink its rotting teeth into his throat.

Beside him, he heard Loudwhisper snarl deep in his chest. Shel'yin fell to his knees.

The onslaught died away quite suddenly, leaving Redmorning gasping for breath in the cold afternoon. He stood very still, all senses alert, but he felt nothing but the old mana of Ashenvale.

"What just happened?" he asked the world at large.

Kev'ran went to help Shel'yin to his feet. The sight should have been ridiculous, as small as she was. It was not.

Then Rokhyel Shadebreaker walked out into the daylight.

He stopped just outside the cave mouth, leaning on his sword. A small chain wrapped the hilt below his hands, and a rusty medallion hung against the chipped blade. His eye sockets were utterly dark.

"I believe it is safe to enter now," he said.

"Kerd, Lev, check it," Redmorning said. The lieutenants moved into the dim opening as other Orcs shook themselves, trying to understand what had happened. One or two had collapsed, and were only now getting up. "What happened?"

The Shadebreaker came slowly toward them, moving like an old man.

"There were twelve archers," he said. "But the cave goes back further than Kerd Bladeleaper realized. There was also a revenant of fire."

Shel'yin, who stood with one hand on Kev'ran's shoulder for balance, looked up. "Demons," he said weakly.

It was the first time Redmorning had heard him use the word as an oath. "What's a revenant?"

"The source of the power we felt," Shel'yin said. "A very ancient and powerful Undead."

"I believe it had been attacked before," Shadebreaker said. "It is nothing but empty armor now, but most of the plates are dented."

"It must have been guarding a great treasure," Shel'yin said. "Only a fool would attack a revenant otherwise."

"Or one with nothing to lose," Shadebreaker said.

"The clan is in your debt once again," Redmorning said.

"I will be pleased to follow your commands as long as you are willing to give them," Shadebreaker said. "But I doubt whether this is any great treasure."

He unwrapped the chain from his sword hilt and held it out. Letters became visible on the medallion as the sun fell on it.

"Can you read it?" Veren asked, as he took it by the chain and examined it. It seemed unreasonably heavy.

"It is in an Elven language," Shadebreaker said. "I can speak it a little, but I do not recognize the characters."

"Then why don't we see if - "

"I read it for you," Glaive announced, from behind him. Redmorning turned to find her standing a few yards behind him, the druid towering at her side. "Need better bodyguards, though. Too easy sneak up on."

"Thanks," Loudwhisper said dryly.

"Not worry too much," Glaive said. "Nobody good at sneaking up as I am. Here." She took the medallion from Redmorning's extended hand. She turned it over and over slowly.

"Very old," she said. "Probably older than druid, even."

Arinagh must have understood part of this. He shot Glaive a wry look.

"Not sure how say all this in Orcish," Glaive said after a moment. "Says is for bring back dead. Not for summon skeleton, though. Something about calling soul back in. And this says… Get dressed with skin? Clothe with flesh, I think. Got some instructions, too." She frowned slightly as she fingered the surface. "You sure you not read this, dead man? Look again." She raised her head as she held out the medallion by the chain.

Shadebreaker took it carefully. He set the medallion on the palm of one bony hand as he stared down at it. At least, Redmorning assumed he was staring. His sockets were still dark.

"No," he said. "I cannot - "

Glaive stepped quickly forward and laid her hand atop the medallion. The dead hand and the living sandwiched the relic for just an instant. It was enough.

Tendrils of darkness sprang from the metal, expanding furiously. Blackness enfolded the Elf and the death knight, and a smell like hot metal filled the air. Redmorning heard the hiss of snow melting. There was no other sound.

Then the black smoke evaporated, vanished as if it had never been. Glaive lay on her back on the bare ground, still and silent.

Beside her lay the body of a man.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Redmorning started forward, only to encounter Loudwhisper's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Not safe," the other Orc said. "Let Shel'yin."

Veren growled in frustration, but stood still. He glanced back at the druid. The Elf stared at the two bodies, pale eyes wide.

"Chieftain," Shel'yin said. Redmorning turned back to see him kneeling between the Elf and the man, holding up the medallion. It was slowly disappearing, evaporating into silver mist.

"Is she alive?" Redmorning asked.

Shel'yin laid a large hand over Glaive's throat. "Yes," he said after a moment. "She is very weak. We should take her inside."

"Can you carry her?"

"Yes," Shel'yin said grimly.

"Then go. Arinagh…"

The druid followed Shel'yin without a word.

Redmorning turned his attention to the man. And man he clearly was. _Elves don't have ears like that. _His skin was white, and his hair was white; it spread beneath his shoulders like snow on the ground. His face was angular, all sharp bones and narrow planes.

He still wore a cloak and mail, and one hand clutched the pommel of a plain and battered sword.

"Kev'ran," Redmorning said, since Loudwhisper had not moved his hand. "See if he's breathing, will you?"

"He's cold," she reported a moment later. "Whatever it was, it must not have - "

She twitched back involuntarily as the dead man moved his head.

A moment later he opened his eyes. They seemed ordinary enough.

"Rokhyel?" Redmorning said.

"Where is Glaive?"

The face might be strange. The voice was unmistakably Shadebreaker's.

"Inside," Redmorning said.

Rokhyel Shadebreaker sat up. He did not relinquish his grasp on the sword. "She is alive?"

"At the moment," Kev'ran said. "We are not sure what the medallion did to her."

Shadebreaker sighed. The movement of his chest was startling, and Redmorning realized the man had not been breathing. Veren watched as he used the sword to lever himself upright. Then he turned and went into the cave. He moved carefully, as if he were not used to walking on feet, but he did not seem to notice that he was barefoot in the snow.

"Right," Redmorning said, shaking his head. "I suppose we'd better get everyone organized."

---

The Orcs moved as quickly as tired feet and tired minds allowed, hurrying to make the cave habitable and defensible. A natural vent toward the back of the cave became a chimney shortly after Merd Quickdigger found it. The tame spiders made themselves comfortable close to the fire. Kerd, Lev and Shel'yin organized their troops into shifts for sleeping and watching. Veren Redmorning gave orders where orders were needed, and then he went to lie down. Loudwhisper took first watch. Kev'ran did not argue.

The warlocks had suffered the most effect from the evil mana of the revenant, and most of them slept through the afternoon. One or two manned the barricades, standing by the catapults set up in front of the cave mouth.

Glaive lay on an empty travois. She breathed shallowly under her layers of fur blankets. The druid Arinagh slept close to her feet, exhausted by his attempts to heal her.

Rokhyel Shadebreaker stood beside the litter all through the long afternoon. If his curses were silent, they were no less bitter for that.

_I should have stopped her. I should have guessed._

He had taken his hand from the medallion, but it had been too late. At best, he had prevented the full transfer of life from one body to another. _Else I would be fully alive now, and the Glaive of the Tattered Banner would be dead. True dead, beyond my ability to raise her._

"Lord Shadebreaker?"

Rokhyel turned. A peon stood there, holding out a pair of moccasins. "Chieftain said you was to have these. Said now you got toes, you ought to keep them warm. Uh. Much as you can."

"How very like Veren Redmorning," Shadebreaker said. "Thank you." The peon grunted and went off. Rokhyel put the shoes on and returned to his vigil.

He was still Undead. The Shadebreaker was not sorry for that. _I am clothed, no longer a soul tethered to naked bone. I can breathe, if I wish to speak. And something moves in my veins, though my heart does not beat. It is more than I would dare to ask, _he thought, staring toward the darkening cave mouth. Night was falling.

"Where _you _come from?" said Glaive weakly.

Shadebreaker turned instantly, kneeling beside the travois.

"Glaive?"

The Elf pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking. "Who are… Shadebreaker? That you?"

"Yes," he said. "You succeeded. Though if I had known what you planned to do…"

"I know," Glaive said. Her voice was weak, but she still sounded smug. "That why I didn't ask you."

"What were you thinking?" Rokhyel asked without rancor. "If I hadn't stopped it, you would be dead."

"Un huh," Glaive said. She lay back down, pulling the cover up over her shoulders. "Medallion said it only works if dead one is willing. And I know you."

"Don't ever do that again," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said.

Glaive snickered. "Not to worry. 'Sides, I like you this way. You eyes are green."

And with that, she rolled over and went to sleep, leaving a dumbfounded death knight on his knees beside the litter.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The shifts changed at nightfall. Most of the Orcs rose, at least somewhat refreshed, and the few sentries staggered into the cave to get what sleep they could. Veren Redmorning met with his commanders as the transfer was in progress.

"How long do you plan to stay here?" Shel'yin asked at once.

"Until tomorrow morning, at least," Redmorning said. "They need the rest, and since most of our enemies are comfortable in the darkness, traveling by night buys us no advantage."

Lev Darksun grunted. "Especially when they can make themselves invisible," he said. "Maybe the warlock here can see them, but the rest of us can't."

"We didn't get as much of a head start as I'd like," Veren agreed. "But we've set up our defenses carefully. I doubt anyone will get past the sentries, and the cave mouth is highly defensible."

"You mean it is a death trap," Shel'yin said.

"Thank you for that useful and heartening remark, Warlock. Anyone else?"

As it happened, Veren Redmorning was only half right.

Ordinary Night Elves would not have been able to get past the sentries. The Priestess in charge of the Ashenvale garrison realized it as soon as her scouts brought her the report. That was why she sent a Warden, instead.

---

Androis Darkiron moved quietly through the undergrowth outside the cave. Red light glowed from the entrance, but the stench of evil magic was almost gone.

_It is as the scouts said. They have slain the Guardian and taken the Medallion of Kashinath. _

But… What use could Orcs have for that peculiar talisman, so double-edged in its use? _We did not consider it worth our while to spend the lives it would take to destroy the revenant, _the Warden thought_. Perhaps we should have taken more thought to what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands._

No satyr could have done it, that much was certain. _Besides, satyrs can only raise mindless skeletons. It would take a thinking Undead to understand the conditions and accept them. No one could have anticipated that red Orcs would penetrate so far into the forest._

Darkiron supposed it was dimly possible that the Orcs had simply kept the artifact, and did not realize what it was for. In that case, she would have to try and recover it when her primary mission was complete.

_It is not insult enough that they desecrated a sacred place when they came to Ashenvale, that they slew its trees for building and its creatures for food. Now they have taken hostages, as well._

Darkiron was within inches of the entrance now. She risked a glance around the edge of the cave mouth, then ducked back. The sentries were alert, scanning the darkness, but they would not see her. _Orcs cannot see the invisible. Not even these demon-Orcs._

She gathered up the necessary mana and blinked into a shadow close to the wall inside. A peon passed quite close, and Darkiron held her poisoned dagger at the ready, but the Orc did not notice her. She looked around the cave with a practiced eye.

_They seem surprisingly calm and organized, for Orcs under the influence of the demon's blood. Nor do I scent the stink of the Burning Legion on them. What is this?_

It did not matter. She had caught sight of her objective. A travois sat against the wall close to the back of the cave, with a tall, hooded figure standing guard over it. An Elf lay under blankets there, her back to the Warden. A druid of the claw paced restlessly by the end of the travois, casting a giant shadow in the firelight.

_Arinagh. I hope they have treated you well, my old friend. _Darkiron selected a suitable shadow, close to the travois, and blinked again.

The fan of knives would be too conspicuous to use yet. But she had seen what the Orcs wore. None of them had armored necks. Darkiron threw her dagger underhand, and it flew with lethal accuracy. The cloaked guard fell to his knees without a sound.

"Bring her," Darkiron whispered. "I will lead you out."

Arinagh looked at her with an expression that was almost sad. "Darkiron," he rumbled. "I am glad to see you, though I wish the circumstances were otherwise. You must go, and quickly."

"What do you mean?"

"Too late," said a voice beside Androis' ear, and she found a blade at her throat. "Do not try to teleport. Believe me when I say you do not want to find out which of us is faster."

The voice was female, and the language was hers. Androis glanced at the travois and found it empty. _How could I not have heard her? I have not been crept up on since I was a girl._

"Who are you?" Darkiron said coldly.

Then she saw the fallen sentry reach up and pull the knife from his throat. His hood fell back.

"Goddess," Androis Darkiron said, as she saw the black blood running from the side of his neck. She knew she had not missed the artery, but the flow was thick and sluggish. "That is no Orc."

"Indeed," said the dead man, also in the familiar tongue. He touched the wound and looked at his fingers. "You should consider yourself fortunate. If you had killed me, I do not think you would be alive at this moment."

"She's only alive because I thought you might need her life," the Elf said.

Orcs were beginning to gather around them, attracted by the strange tableau. A murmur ran around the inside of the cavern.

"I told you once before," the Undead said. "I will not kill a prisoner. No more than I would take your life, when you offered it."

"I am sorry," Arinagh said heavily. "I did not realize the Priestess knew I had been taken alive."

Androis barely heard him, lost in realization as she recalled the account she had heard of the last battle against the Orcs.

"A skeleton mage killed our chimera," she said slowly. "We thought it was some trick of Orcish magic, an animate dead like the satyrs use."

"No," Arinagh said. "It was Rokhyel Shadebreaker."

"_You _used the Medallion of Kashinath," Androis said. _It is unfortunate that I'm about to die, because the Priestess should certainly hear this._ "But… You should be alive…"

"The Shadebreaker has scruples which I lack," the voice at Darkiron's ear said. "He did not let the Medallion finish its work."

A tenor voice said something in Orcish. The small crowd parted. A slim Orc stood in front of Darkiron and her captor. He wore a sword harness, and he stood flanked by a small warlock and the biggest grunt that Androis had ever seen.

"So this is the Chieftain of the red Orcs," Androis Darkiron said in the Common tongue. "I expected someone taller."

The Orc looked over Androis's shoulder, presumably at the other Elf.

"They came from Draenor," she said. "He does not understand you." She translated rapidly.

The Orc smiled.

"Everyone does," Darkiron's captor translated his reply.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"So how, exactly, did she get past our sentries dressed like that?" Veren Redmorning asked, surveying the captive. Her helmet covered her head and most of her face, and she went armored from head to toe under her cape. Though the metal was black, the articulated plates still gleamed dully in the firelight. Part of the armor had even been fashioned into a small pair of wings projecting up from her shoulders. _She's not exactly dressed for stealth._

"This is…" Glaive cocked her head, searching for a word. "Prison-keeper? Jailer? Sometimes hunt enemies, too."

"Warden?" Redmorning suggested.

"Sure. Warden blink past you guards, then hide in shadows. You lucky she thought Shadebreaker was Orc."

"What do you mean by _blink_?" Veren asked. The enemy Elf was fading to near-invisibility now that she stood still, melding unconsciously with the night as he had often seen Glaive do.

Glaive smiled. "I take my knife away, you find out quick-quick, Chieftain. Disappear one place, come back somewhere else. Can't go far, but they bloody hard to fight."

"Meaning she can teleport," Shel'yin said, moving up on Redmorning's left. "She will not be easily kept prisoner, Chieftain."

"Demons," Redmorning muttered. "Ask her what she's doing here, Glaive," he said, to buy time.

Glaive relayed the question. The other Elf answered coldly. Her eyes stayed on Veren, and he was startled to see they were yellow behind her helmet.

"Came to get druid," Glaive said. "Elves been watching you since battle. Thought I was hostage, too. She pretty annoyed, find out otherwise."

"I can see that, yes," Redmorning said. Only the Warden's mouth and chin were visible under the helmet, but he could just make out the hard line of her dark lips. "They've been watching us all this time… Ask her if she will leave peaceably, if I let her take Arinagh."

Glaive looked at him, pale eyes luminous in the dim. "Not good idea, Chieftain."

"I doubt that Arinagh can tell them anything they don't already know. Perhaps if they know we are leaving their lands, they will be less disposed to attack us again."

"Maybe," Glaive said. "And maybe they just send Warden back again, when you on the move. They not very big group, probably only get one Warden. I kill her now, maybe they leave you alone 'til you get to Barrens."

"I agree," Shel'yin said. "We have not encountered this type of assassin before. If she had not been trying to rescue the druid, you could have been dead before we knew she was here."

"Well, we know now," Redmorning said. "And I'm not going to kill her on the off chance it will turn out to be a good idea later. Ask her, Glaive."

"You the Chieftain," Glaive said cheerfully, and spoke to the other Elf again. The Warden responded suspiciously, and Redmorning was quite sure he knew what she had said. _I haven't lived with Shel'yin all this time for nothing. _Then the druid said something with an air of finality. The Warden looked at him for a moment without speaking . Then she looked back at Redmorning, meeting his eyes, and spoke. Glaive's translation confirmed his guess.

"Warden says maybe you follow her back and kill them anyway, since she can't blink with druid," Glaive said. She showed no sign of fatigue, though she had been holding a knife to the other Elf's throat for some minutes now. "Druid says you word is good. Warden says you swear, she agree."

"Then I give you my word," Veren Redmorning said, without taking his eyes from the Warden's. "You will not be followed or harmed, either you or the druid Arinagh, unless we meet again in battle or in war. Tell her, Glaive."

---

"Are you all right?" Androis Darkiron asked, when they were some miles from the cave. The two Elves moved quickly in the winter night, even the great druid seemingly weightless as they glided through the snow.

"Yes," Arinagh said. "The Glaive would have killed me, but Veren Redmorning would not allow it. I've been treated well, for a prisoner of war."

"A glaive is a weapon," Androis said. "Has this traitor no other name?"

"You were very close," Arinagh said. "You must have seen her scars."

Few things escaped Androis Darkiron, even in the dark. _Especially _in the dark. She frowned, reaching for the memory: strong fingers at her throat, and a face beside her as the other Elf leaned forward…

"Her left ear was notched," Darkiron said slowly. "She had parallel slash marks on her cheek, and on her neck. Deep, but very straight." She fell silent as she realized what she ought to have known at once. "I am a fool," she said. "Vendre Fellwind. But I had not thought her skilled enough to creep up on a Warden."

"I suspect she had training before she ever came to us. Perhaps from her father," Arinagh said. "You have met Fellwind the demon hunter."

"Once," Darkiron said. "Before he fell. I thought him half sane, as demon hunters always are."

"Perhaps," Arinagh said. "But you see what happened. Vendre was sentenced to a lingering death, and the Orcs found her while she still lived."

"It would have been wiser to kill her cleanly, and outright," Androis said. They moved through the trees beside the path, retracing the caravan's trail. "Yes, she killed her superior officer in wartime, and such a crime must be punished to the full extent of the law. But this…"

"She has become the weapon of another people," Arinagh said. "The Glaive of the Tattered Banner. She's only forty-five years old, Androis. Yet I watched her kill three seasoned warriors in as many seconds, and two more soon after. I would be dead as well, if she had not spared me to heal the clan's wounded. She is not really a warrior. She is a killer."

"I wondered," Androis Darkiron said. "I knew you would not be easily taken."

"Entirely too easily, I'm afraid. I begin to wonder if it's true that we begin to age," Arinagh said quietly. Androis suppressed a shudder.

"These Orcs are not what we thought them to be," she said, to change the subject. "Demon worshippers would not have taken in a wounded stranger, nor spared a prisoner of war for anything but slavery. Or sacrifice."

"They do not serve the demons," Arinagh said. "Nor have for some time, I suspect. I think they came to Azeroth hoping to rule themselves. Certainly, they have not adopted thecustoms of Warchief Thrall's people."

"We will tell the Priestess," Androis said. "But in the end, you know it makes no difference. We can't have interlopers living in Ashenvale."

"They do not plan to stay here," Arinagh said. "They are going to the Barrens."

"Good," Androis said firmly. "Let Thrall deal with them. We have enough to worry about with the satyrs growing bolder every day."

"Yes. How are you faring, Androis?"

The Warden shrugged. "The same. A little more tired, perhaps. It does little good to assassinate a chief of the satyrs. The next strongest merely steps into his place. I feel sometimes that there is no end to it."

"There is always an end," Arinagh said.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Veren Redmorning stood back from the cave entrance, watching Shel'yin and Glaive stand in the opening. Both stood to one side of the sentries, blending their silhouettes with that of a catapult. The air was very still, but the cold from outside seemed more immediate than the warmth from inside. Redmorning quashed a shiver.

"They are gone," Shel'yin said finally. Glaive turned and padded back to Veren.

"I go hunt now?" she said.

Redmorning raised one eyebrow. "You know better than that, Glaive."

Glaive rolled her eyes. "Not Elves. I know where find giant wolf pretty close."

"What for?"

"For dead man," the Elf said patiently. She twitched her head at the Undead, who stood in the shadow not far from the cave mouth. He had pulled his hood up again. He stood with his head bowed, hands wrapped tight around his sword hilt.

"Warden cut his neck," Glaive said. "Bleed slow, 'cause he dead, but he still be dry as stone by morning." She showed no sign that the prospect disturbed her.

"Then by all means, go," Redmorning said. "Shadebreaker, we should have some clothes cut down to fit by the time you're back. You're liable to have bits of skin freezing to your mail if you go out in the cold very often."

"Thank you, Chieftain," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. He stalked out into the night, following the lithe form of the Elf.

"He's never far from where she is," Veren said to Shel'yin. "Do you suppose…"

"No." The warlock shook his head. "An Undead is not capable of any such thing, unless my understanding is flawed."

"I doubt whether Glaive is, either," Redmorning said. _No saying which one of them is colder. _"It makes me wonder why they seem to keep saving each other."

Shel'yin shrugged. "They have more in common with each other than with anyone else here. Perhaps that is all."

"Perhaps," Redmorning said. His bodyguards were not far off, but they stood back out of earshot. Veren seized his opportunity. "What about you and Kev'ran?"

The tall warlock turned to look down at him. His eyes still glowed in the dark, but very dimly. "I do not understand."

Redmorning stared at Shel'yin. "You're serious," he said. "Bloody hellfire. You've really never even talked to her about it?"

"There is nothing to discuss," Shel'yin said. "I would not be an appropriate match for Kev'ran."

"And why is that, exactly?"

Shel'yin muttered something.

"I didn't quite catch that, Warlock," Veren said. "Did I hear the word 'weak' pass your lips? Would this be in some way related to the events of yesterday?"

"You do not understand, Chieftain," Shel'yin said. "I came within a hair of striking her."

Veren was startled by the abject humiliation in the warlock's voice. _I've never heard him admit he was wrong before, _he recognized silently. _Yesterday was the closest to loss of personal control anyone here has ever seen him, and he knows it. _

"Yes," he said. "But you didn't do it. And after she had to help you up, you carried Glaive in here all by yourself. I think you'll find that Kev'ran was as impressed by that as I was."

Shel'yin looked back toward the bodyguards, who stood chatting. He said nothing.

"Go talk to her," Redmorning said. The other Orc stood still, hesitating. "Warlock," Veren Redmorning said. "Did you think I was making a _request?_"

Shel'yin muttered something that was almost certainly disrespectful. He turned and walked back toward the two guards. His feet were soundless on the cave floor.

Veren Redmorning allowed himself a small, inward smile. Then he went to check on the peons.

"Oh, just about done," Veddy Sharpneedle said, in answer to his question. Except for Merd's broken undertusk, she might have been his twin instead of his spouse. "Gave it to Nez the Small. Quickest hands."

Redmorning blinked. "Who?"

"Over there," Veddy said, waving a hand toward the cave wall.

Veren walked over to the indicated area, bemused. Most of the peons had names like Goodbuilder or Scarfinger_. It seems like it would take a _very _tiny peon to end up with a name like Small._

He was right. Nez the Small sat crosslegged on the floor, hemming a tunic with nimble fingers. The bald head was bowed over the task, but it was still clear that Veren Redmorning was looking at the shortest peon in the clan.

"Nez?" he said.

The peon looked up, revealing a broad-boned face that was quite clearly female. A look of suppressed panic appeared and disappeared as Redmorning watched.

"Chieftain!" the peon leapt to her feet, clutching the tunic. She bowed. "Almost done. Just a couple inches."

"No hurry," Veren said. "I'm sure we have a little while until Glaive and Shadebreaker get back."

_Demons, _he thought, as he looked at the petrified Orc. _She can't be taller than five feet. Which makes two Orcs in this entire clan that are shorter than I am. _

He could see why she'd ended up a peon. She was stockier than a wolf rider, but not bulky enough for a grunt. _And she wasn't lucky enough to know any unexpectedly egalitarian warlocks, like Kev'ran was._

"Er," he said, when he realized she was still staring up at him. Her eyes were very large above the wide planes of her face. "Go ahead and sit down. I'm sorry to have interrupted you."

Nez turned, if possible, darker crimson than before. "Not a problem, Chieftain," she said, and sat down quickly. "Um. Very glad to help."

Redmorning crouched beside her, back pressed to the wall, and watched. The peon was obviously nervous, but Veddy Sharpneedle was right: she did have quick hands. The bone needle darted in and out rapidly, leaving behind very neat stitches.

_The question remains: just _why _is she nervous? _Veren thought. _She has to have seen me many times. There aren't _that _many of us. It's just a random chance that I haven't talked to her before. _

"Is something wrong, peon?" he asked after a moment.

"No, Chieftain," Nez the Runt said. "'M not too good at meeting people. Um. 'Til I get to know them."

"So how did you end up coming to Azeroth?"

"Used to have a brother," Nez said. "He wanted to come."

Redmorning winced internally. "What happened to him?"

"Up in a watchtower, first time the Night Elves hit us," Nez said.

Veren Redmorning was unlikely to forget that night. He still had the scars on his chest. _One single Orc stayed in a burning tower, and kept on shooting at the Elves._

"He'd be Zere Deepminer, then," Redmorning said. "A very brave Orc."

"Yeah," Nez said. "He was. Never was too smart, but he was real brave." Her tone was matter-of-fact, though the loss must be very fresh.

"I'm sorry," Redmorning said.

"Me, too," Nez the Small said. "Miss him. But you go on, you know?" She glanced quickly at him, then flushed darkly again.

"I do know," Veren Redmorning said gently. "I had a brother once, too. But that was a long time ago. He died fighting the Naga."

Nez cut the end of the thread across one tusk. She folded the tunic neatly, then tucked her needle into a belt pouch.

"Guess that should fit," she said.

"Did you take his measurements?" Redmorning said. Nez shook her head.

"Don't have to. Pretty good at going by eye. Um. It worked with yours."

Redmorning glanced down at his own tunic, startled. "You made this?"

"Yeah, Chieftain," Nez said. "Easy. You stand real straight, so it always hangs right. Kind of harder, make things for the Bladeleaper."

"I can see how it would be," Redmorning said. "And I appreciate it." He stood up. "Would you give the clothes to Shadebreaker as soon as he comes in? Or would you rather I had Veddy do it?"

"Naw," Nez said. "I like the Shadebreaker. Um. He's always real polite."

_Which is probably the highest praise she can give. With a name like Nez the Small, I'm sure she's been bullied her entire life. _

"That he is," Redmorning said. "It's been a privilege to meet you. Have a good night, Nez the Small."

"Night, Chieftain," she said.

---

Nez the Small watched the Chieftain walk away. He was very graceful. She'd heard that Blademasters always were.

_Not like ours, I bet._ Nez hadn't told him all the truth. She _wasn't _very good at meeting new people. She didn't usually blush when spoken to, though. Peons, responsible for delivering newborns and laying out the dead, generally got over that very early in life.

"Demons," she said to herself. "Get in some trouble, anybody figure _that _one out."

She shook her head and went to put the new tunic with the leggings.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Veren Redmorning moved back toward the bodyguards, looking at his clan as he went. A few slept now, their long first shift finally over. One or two were engaged in a careful weapons practice, though it was rather desultory in the enclosed space. At the moment, it seemed to be another case of grunts and raiders flirting. _Nobody's hit anybody yet. Looks like we're not seeing much in the way of new couples. _

As a commander, he was not sorry. As a Chieftain of the clan, he hoped the situation would change. _We're a small clan. If we're going to become any larger, we need to start having children, and soon. Hopefully we'll see more Orcs pairing up once we reach the Barrens and find a permanent place to stay._

A child's life might not be easy in the Tattered Banner, but it would be leaps and bounds easier than on Draenor. _At least we can provide enough security that most of them will live to grow up here. We may be attacked by the Elves, but we've done fairly well fighting off the wildlife._

He looked up from these thoughts to find Kev'ran standing very stiffly, blinking over and over.

"What happened?"

"Shel'yin was here," Loudwhisper said.

"What did he say?" Veren asked.

The enormous Orc's shoulders shook in a silent laugh, but he did not answer.

"Kev'ran? What happened?"

"Before or after he kissed me?" Kev'ran said.

---

"Forty-five years old? You can't be serious."

The Priestess of the Moon sat on the branch of an Ancient of War, staring down at Arinagh and Androis. The grove that composed the garrison rustled around them as the great trees swayed in a nonexistent breeze. The Elves went about their business on swift and silent feet.

One or two stopped to greet Arinagh. Not all were fellow druids. He had lived with the garrison a long time.

"I'm afraid I am quite serious, Mistress Fallingrain," Arinagh said. "She had no reason to lie."

"She must have, at the beginning," Androis Darkiron said beside him. "The Leafdancers would never allow such a child to begin the training."

"She is no child," Arinagh said. He shook his heavy shoulders. The cold could not reach through his cloak. He felt as if it had. It was hard to read Androis through her mask, but her bent shoulders suggested she felt the same.

"There is another possible explanation." Priestess Fallingrain dropped from the branch and landed easily on the snowy ground, her robes sweeping around her. She was young, for a full Priestess, but her long hair was already white.

"I observed her very closely while she guarded me," Arinagh said. "I don't believe she is mortal. I suspect she was simply never given time to be a child."

"If she is indeed Fellwind's daughter, it must be so," Warden Darkiron said.

"I must rely on your counsel in this," Fallingrain said. "I did not encounter the demon hunter before his death in Fellwood."

"He was mad," Darkiron said. "I believe the girl is mad also."

"I'm not sure _mad _is the right word," Arinagh said. "Her thinking is… Animal, perhaps. She has no fear, because she has no imagination. She does not feel deeply, or for long. She knows no pity. But neither does she know what it is to be cruel."

"Animals feel," Fallingrain said. "A druid of the claw surely knows this."

"Yes," Arinagh said. "But they are different. If you kill one of a pair of rabbits, the other will stand by the body until it is hungry. Then it will go away and forget. Fellwind's daughter has understanding, but it is elemental. It is not Elven."

"It would explain why she couldn't be made to obey the rules," Fallingrain said. "Of course, if this is true, she could never have been a Sentinel. Even if I was not forced to do what I have done. I wonder if she knows that she has killed all but one of those who sentenced her?"

Arinagh watched the Priestess as her hand strayed unintentionally to her belt knife. _Yes. Some of the marks on her body are yours. You would not suffer others to bloody their hands while you stood back. Were it otherwise, I would not serve you._

"She is dangerous, Mistress," Androis Darkiron said softly. "She is already a deadly fighter now. Imagine what she will be, if she lives to be five hundred."

Fallingrain folded her arms as she calculated. "Yes. But that is doubtful, where the Orcs are going. Even if they survive the long journey – and there are many satyrs between here and there - the Barrens are full of enemies."

"Then you do not plan to follow them," Arinagh said. Both women looked at him, startled at his evident relief.

"No," Fallingrain said. "I was foolish to send Bhenedar's unit after them the second time. I should have gone myself. Now he and Lightsweeper are both dead, and you two are the highest surviving of my lieutenants. We do not have enough troops to divide, and I would rather not have to ask for reinforcements from the Moonglade before Spring."

"By your leave, Mistress, they should at least be followed," Androis said.

"I agree," Arinagh said. "It would be as well to know for certain that they are leaving. I am convinced of it myself, but if possible we should be sure."

"That is good advice," Fallingrain said. "See that it is done."

---

Soon after the sunrise, the Tattered Banner was on the move. The gray flag swung slowly in the thin, cold breeze as the caravan crept along through the woods. The Orcs were refreshed by the rest they had taken, but the column still had to move at the pace of those pulling the travois which held the buildings and supplies. There were not enough riderless wolves to pull them all, and some were dragged along by the largest and strongest of the peons.

Veren Redmorning walked at the center of the column with his guards. Kerd Bladeleaper scouted ahead with a few chosen raiders, and Lev Darksun came behind, protecting the caravan's vulnerable back.

Glaive moved up and down the column's length, seemingly at random. She seemed none the worse for the previous day's events, and if she was still tired, there was no sign of it. Shadebreaker followed wherever she went: less graceful in his new flesh, but grimly determined to keep up. Sometimes she diverted into the wood, and then he stayed with the column.

Veren Redmorning, watching from the corner of one eye, saw him go up and down the column while Glaive was out of sight. Somehow, he always seemed to know where she would reappear, though they almost never spoke.

Shel'yin traveled with the warlocks. The spellcasters walked in a loose group around Veren, staying within the cordon of grunts and raiders. Redmorning was pleased to note the occasional glances Shel'yin and Kev'ran were exchanging today.

He might have been a little envious, as well.

_It's not for you, _he told himself. _It never has been. You have too much work to do. Besides,_ he thought wryly. _What Orc in her right mind would have me, even if I do live out the year? Loudwhisper is stronger, Shel'yin knows more, and Kerd and Lev are both better fighters. Whatever mysterious quality of chieftainship they all seem to be seeing is probably entirely imaginary, and sooner or later they're bound to realize it._

At close to midday, when the pale sun was high, Shadebreaker's wanderings brought him up beside Dib Loudwhisper. Veren took a couple of quick steps so he could see around his bodyguard.

"I see Nev gave you your new clothes," he said.

"Yes. You were right about the mail," Shadebreaker said. "I had forgotten how easily flesh is torn. Thank you."

"You're part of the clan," Redmorning said. "You're welcome to what we can give you in the way of food, clothing and shelter. You've certainly earned it so far."

"It is my honor to - "

Shadebreaker broke off abruptly. His hooded head swung toward the woods. "Excuse me, Chieftain." He stepped between two grunts and vanished into the trees.

Redmorning looked after him.

"I wonder what Glaive is doing right now," he said.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Glaive squatted on top of a large rock, observing four satyrs with tolerant contempt. They stood around the base of her perch, all wielding scimitars and showing various degrees of predatory interest.

"We could skin her," one said. "That was fun last time."

"It made too much noise," said another. "Besides, she's not going to be that easy."

"Sure she is."

"No. I can tell. I was right about the other one, remember?"

"Yes, but you were wrong about the one before that."

"Someone's coming, I can hear it…"

The Shadebreaker surveyed the scene from the edge of the clearing.

"Glaive," he said. "What are you doing?"

The Undead stood between two trees, his sword up on one shoulder. The posture might be taken for a casual one, for someone who had not seen what Glaive had. Shadebreaker saw her smile, and knew she recognized it.

"They been following the caravan," she said in Orcish. "Present time, they arguing 'bout how they going to kill me."

"I see," he said.

"You with her?" a satyr asked, inspecting him narrowly.

"Yes," Shadebreaker said. "But it will make no difference."

"Hah. Night Elves are a lot of _Aaaa - _"

The shriek cut off abruptly, followed by three more which were very similar in tone. Glaive slid bonelessly down the side of the rock. She collected one glaive and two throwing knives from their various resting places.

"Get three or four at once, if blade wasn't broken," Glaive said. She leaned against the great stone as she cleaned the glaive on a satyr's fur. "Lucky get two now."

"Then why don't you get another one?" the Shadebreaker said.

"'Cause this one is mine," Glaive said.

Rokhyel came forward, glancing incuriously at the dead satyrs. "Did they say anything else?"

Glaive shook her head. She sat on the ground now, back to the rock.

"Then shall we rejoin the caravan, before we are left behind?"

"Go ahead," Glaive said, waving airily. "I catch up."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker lowered his sword and leaned on the hilt for a moment. He looked at her. She looked back without apparent discomfort, but her face was pale, making her scars harder to see.

"You can't get up," he said. "Can you."

"Sure I can," Glaive said. "In a minute."

"It's happened before," Shadebreaker said. "When?"

Glaive shrugged. "Once last night. Once this morning. Get real tired all of a sudden, but I wait a minute, it goes away."

Shadebreaker considered this.

"I told you afterwards that you shouldn't have done it," he said.

"Yep, and it still don't matter," Glaive said. "I get over it. Always do."

"Exactly how many previous incidents in your life have involved medallions designed to restore life to the Undead?"

Shadebreaker took a step forward and offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her easily to her feet. She seemed almost weightless.

"You hand is freezing," Glaive said. "Maybe ought to think about some gloves. Come on."

She walked past him. Her movement did not falter. Shadebreaker followed her. A moment later she said,

"Father was demon hunter. Pretty good at mana burn. He had it figured where if you got no mana, he burn you life instead."

"I have met few Elves," Shadebreaker said. "I have not known any who would use magic against a child."

"Probably not too many crazy as him," Glaive said. "Try to kill me two, three times, once he figure out I was different. Finally ran off. Got killed by demons pretty soon after that. Never knew who mother was, so I went looking for Sentinels."

They stepped between the trees and onto the trail. They were not far from the end of the caravan. Peons were barely visible inside the outer cordon of raiders and grunts. One or two carried the smallest of the spiders, keeping them warm.

Glaive fell into step among the guards. She glanced at a grunt beside her.

"Orcs changing color," she said casually.

Shadebreaker cocked his head. "Yes."

The grunt looked at her, startled, then at his own arm.

"Demons," he said. "Somebody ought to tell the…"

Glaive and Shadebreaker were already gone.

---

"You're right," Veren Redmorning said. He looked at his bodyguards in startled realization. "Our skin and our blood were the same color when we came from Draenor. It's easy not to notice, with it happening to everyone at once."

"I have not been with you all that time," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "But you do appear different than when I came to you. Your skin is becoming more gray than red."

"There is a difference even since we left the cave," Kev'ran said. "Shel'yin and I discussed it."

"That I did notice," Redmorning said. "Fewer glowing eyes. Which is a good thing, not an ill."

"Give it enough time, I be looking different too," Glaive said. "Got no truck with Elune now."

"With who?" Redmorning said.

"Moon goddess," Glaive said. "Never had much to do with her to start with. Definitely not now. Be surprised how much living around different mana makes different Elves."

Rokhyel Shadebreaker pushed his hood back from his head as he stared at the trees. The air around him began to hiss and waver as mana rose.

"I think we are about to be attacked," he said.

"Yeah," Glaive said. "Twenty-odd satyrs. Forgot to say."

"I can see how you would," Redmorning said, raising one eyebrow. "Shadebreaker, go join the rearguard. Tell Lev," he said. "Glaive, get up to the front, will you?"

The Elf and the Undead moved off in opposite directions: Glaive at a graceful sprint, Shadebreaker at a purposeful glide. The air seemed to grow denser as the word spread among the warlocks, and they began to draw up mana of their own.

The enemy swirled out of the trees at the hindmost end of the caravan before Rokhyel Shadebreaker ever reached it. Twenty satyrs fell upon a peon-drawn travois, fifteen grunts, and Nez the Small, who walked beside the loom.


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Nez was terrified. She knew herself to be the smallest peon in a very small clan, the least of the least. She'd never been trained to fight, except for throwing darts through the narrow apertures of a burrow. Now she was faced with twenty screaming devils, and she had no weapon in her hand. Her belt knife was nothing to this.

But she had seen something, tied in a bundle on the edge of the travois. Something shiny that gleamed through its dull wrappings. Even as the peons threw down their harness and reached for their darts, Nez scrambled among the bundles. Behind her, grunts and snarls indicated that Lev Darksun and his contingent were fighting hard.

Her fingers closed on something thin and very sharp. She drew it carefully from the bag and held up the glaive.

"Elf weapons," muttered Nez the Small. She rummaged briefly, but the bag held only glaives. "Okay. No time." She scrambled up the pile of tied-down packages on the travois.

At the top she paused fearfully to look down on the others. As she watched, Lev Darksun swung his axe with unlikely speed, hacked through a satyr's ribcage, and continued the swing to parry a stroke from a scimitar. None of the attackers had broken through the grunts yet, and other Orcs were moving back from the front of the caravan. She saw the Shadebreaker coming a ways off, his sword in both hands.

_Can't many of 'em leave their posts, _she realized. _Don't know if they're gonna hit the front, too._

She hefted the glaive, forcing herself to breathe deeply. _Good thing I'm too dry to wet myself. _She would never be able to hit the nearest satyrs, who were too close to the grunts. But others stood back out of range, vague through the haze of mana that surrounded them.

"Okaaaay…"

It was worth a try, Nez figured. She'd always been good with the darts. She threw the glaive.

The weapon whispered through the air like a breath of winter. It went right over the heads of the grunts. On its downward curve, it cut through a hellcaller's neck with a soft hiss, and Nez blinked as the satyr's head fell off. But the glaive's momentum was not checked. It went on to cut an ugly slice across the chest of the next satyr on its way to slicing off the arm of a third. When it finally struck the snow, blood splattered around it in a bright fan.

"Whoa," said Nez the Small. She shook off her paralysis and dove down the travois to get another glaive, barely noticing that she'd cut one of her fingers when she threw the first one.

Nez heard a sizzle and a scream. The dead man had arrived. A moment later, he appeared beside her, climbing up the travois to get a better shot with his next death coil.

"Nez the Small," he said, without looking at her. He snapped his sword forward, and a satyr died with a shriek. The Shadebreaker's white hair whipped around his head in a nonexistent breeze.

"Yeah," Nez said. She clambered back up next to him, a glaive in each hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to kill satyrs. Um. Borrowed this Elf thing."

Nez picked out another furry demon who was slightly separated from the others, calculated, and threw. This time the glaive cut her target almost in half, then buried itself in a tree trunk. "Demons. Got two and a half last time," she said.

"It does not matter," Shadebreaker said. "They are retreating."

The satyrs were indeed retreating. The surviving five or six vanished back into the woods.

"You say so," Nez said. "Um. 'Scuse me." She climbed down again, put the remaining glaive away, and ran to get the others back. She wiped them off as best she could on whatever was handy, which in this case turned out to be dead satyrs.

The rearguard was not large, perhaps ten Orcs. Every single one had survived, and every single one was responsible for at least one dead satyr. Lev Darksun had to shove his way out of a pile. Nez heard him swearing as he wiped entrails from his tunic.

She was shaking, now that it was over. Nez did her best to ignore it - and the sudden stench of dead satyrs- as she went to put away the Elvish weapons. She did it a little reluctantly. They were pretty, and light, and she wouldn't have minded keeping one. _Probably belong to the Glaive. Don't want to mess with anything of hers, for sure._

The grunts were reorganizing themselves, and Nez watched as one jogged up toward the column front to report. The few peons who had had time to throw collected their darts and got back into their harnesses.

Rokhyel Shadebreaker stood looking down at the smallest peon in the clan. Nez looked back a little nervously.

"I going to get in trouble?" she asked.

"On the whole, I think not," the dead man said. "Come with me, Nez the Small."

---

"She did _what?_" said Veren Redmorning.

As he watched, the little peon winced almost imperceptibly. Rokhyel Shadebreaker stood behind her. The addition of flesh had not lent his face more expression. Less, in fact, since Redmorning could no longer gauge his thoughts by the light in his sockets.

"She found the bag of glaives," the Shadebreaker said. "By my count, she is responsible for three dead and one maimed. Her aim is very good."

Behind him, Dib Loudwhisper chuckled. Redmorning felt the rumble through the soles of his feet. A quick glance to his right revealed that Kev'ran was, well, not smiling, but looking less glum than usual.

"It surely must be," Veren said, looking down at the other Orc. "Who taught you to throw, Nez?"

"Nobody," Nez the Small said. "Um. Veddy taught us to throw darts."

_Obviously she wasn't joking about your quick hands. _Veren Redmorning said, "Would you like to have one of the glaives?"

Nez looked at him sharply. He watched emotions change places rapidly over her face until she decided he was serious.

"Yes, Chieftain," said Nez the Small. "Like that a lot."

"We'll have to ask Glaive, of course, but I don't think she'll object. Where is she, Rokhyel?" he asked the Undead.

"Behind me," Shadebreaker said without hesitation. Redmorning frowned, seeing nothing. Glaive appeared atop the nearest travois a second later, crouching with her hands pressed to the hide cover in front of her.

"Pretty neat trick," she said. "How you do that, dead man?"

"No doubt it is because of the medallion," Shadebreaker said evasively.

"Un huh," Glaive said. She turned to look down at Nez the Small. "This little Orc kill three satyrs?"

"Yes," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said.

"Then keep all glaives you want," Glaive said. She vaulted down to the ground easily. "Probably be good idea, 'cause it gonna be a while 'fore you catch them too good."

"Yeah," Nez said. "Cut my hand once already just throwing them."

"Being able to throw them at all is an accomplishment," Veren said.

Nez raised her head. "You think so, Chieftain?"

Redmorning blinked, startled, as large green eyes locked onto his. For a moment he was frozen by the absurdity. Nez stood in the presence of a killer Elf and an Undead twice his age, and looked at him as if his opinion was the only one that mattered.

_It's the only one that matters to _her, he realized.

What followed could only be called epiphany. He looked down at Nez the Small, and for the first and last time in his life, he knew.

_It'll never work, _thought the rational part of his mind that occupied most of his thoughts most of the time.

_(You don't know that,) _said a part that was far less rational.

_She's a peon. A Chieftain should take a fighter._

_(She's no weakling. Shadebreaker's word is good on that.)_

_She's too short, _he argued.

_(And so are you,) _said the inner Veren with finality.

_Bloody Hellfire, _Redmorning thought, and the other voice remained in smug silence, knowing the field was won – and lost.

Redmorning realized he had been silent for far too long.

"Yes," he said. "I do." A brief mental scramble produced appropriately Chiefly words. "You've done a service for your Clan today, Nez the Small. There's not much we can do for you in return, but I'll see it's never forgotten."

Nez blushed furiously, completely unable to speak.

"Go on back and have Veddy look at your hand," Veren prompted, taking pity on her. _Who's going to take pity on _me? Nez bowed and turned to walk quickly away.

Glaive watched her go.

"Silly Orcs," she said.

"Why is that?" Shadebreaker asked.

"Good thing you got no gods," Glaive said. "Be making one out of Chieftain, they all get like that."

"She is a peon," Kev'ran said. "Most Chieftains take no notice of the Orcs who do the low work."

"Hm," Glaive said. "Redmorning maybe less dumb than I thought."

With that, she slid over the side of the travois and vanished from view.


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Redmorning waited until they had stopped for the night. The Tattered Banner set up their rough camp in a hollow against a rocky hill, far from the morning's starting point. Veren talked to his lieutenants, made his rounds, and lay down as he usually did. Loudwhisper took the first watch, to his relief.

He waited until he was sure Kev'ran was asleep. Then he carefully shrugged off the blanket, twined the mana around himself, and windwalked stealthily away from his bodyguards.

The peons slept together in a group, lying wrapped in hides against the shelter of the two catapults or curled up on the travois. Most of them were bundled in groups, forgetting male and female in the face of the bitter cold.

Veren Redmorning was not without an ability to judge his fellow Orcs. He found Nez the Small alone, wrapped in a hide and curled up against a wheel.

He knelt beside her, hidden by the catapult's hulking shadow as he let the haze of magic drop away.

"Nez?" he whispered.

She stirred and sat up, but her face was clear and alert. _She wasn't sleeping._

"Chieftain?" she whispered back, blinking in startlement. "What you doing here?"

Veren found himself in a dilemma. He dealt with members of the other gender every day. The trouble was that he tended not to think of them that way. Kev'ran was a warlock, Kerd was a raider, and Glaive was... Well, Glaive was an Elf, and besides, it was frightening to think of her in any such context as this one. Faced with the situation in which he'd put himself, he had no idea what to do.

"Demons," Redmorning muttered.

Then he hit her. The backhand blow snapped her head around, though it made almost no sound.

Nez straightened slowly, raising a hand to her cheek. Redmorning looked at her expression of incredulous disbelief and thought, _Oh, no. I was wrong. I was wrong, I've just made inappropriate advances to one of my own Orcs and when this gets back to Veddy, she and Merd are going to kill me and they'll have every right - _

Nez balled up her fist and hit him in the stomach.

Redmorning doubled over, wheezing. All the air had rushed out of his lungs, and little spots danced in front of his eyes.

It was, without exaggeration, the happiest moment of his life.

Then Nez threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. Buoyed by success, and probably also by lack of oxygen, Veren kissed her back.

Afterwards, he knelt with his arms around her waist, gasping.

"That was… A little awkward," he said. He was sure one of her undertusks had cut his cheek. It didn't matter.

"'S okay," Nez said breathlessly. "We get better as we go."

They did.

---

The Tattered Banner moved on soon after sunrise. The wind died down into an ominous calm, and the tall conifers stood eerily still around them. Veren Redmorning walked along between his bodyguards. Last night's exhilaration had given way to a kind of dazed vagueness, and he struggled to keep track of his surroundings. He hardly noticed when Gedu Pouncefaster trotted her wolf past him, though Gedu was usually stationed forward and should not have been headed for the rearguard.

"Too quiet," Loudwhisper wheezed after a while.

"I agree," Kev'ran said. "I think we are watched."

"More satyrs?" Redmorning asked, mentally shaking himself. "Pass the word for Shel'yin, then."

Word traveled up the column. The warlocks were ranged around Redmorning's position in the caravan's center, so Shel'yin was not far off. The big warlock matched pace with them a few moments later.

"Yes, Chieftain?"

"Do you see anything out there?"

Redmorning jerked his head toward the forest. Shel'yin looked unobtrusively to left and right – _if we're watched, it would be better not to mark himself as one who can see the invisible._

"Yes," Shel'yin said eventually. "There are two satyrs keeping pace with us to either side. I saw two swords. I cannot tell what the others carry."

"Just four?" Redmorning saw nothing, stare though he might.

"Yes."

"Scouting us," Redmorning said. "The way we're scouting everything in front of us. Thank you, Warlock, you're dismissed. Have someone send me the Glaive."

"Yes, Chieftain," Shel'yin said. He exchanged a brief but smoldering glance with Kev'ran before he moved on.

_Good, _Redmorning thought. _So that's proceeding as well._

"Chieftain," Loudwhisper said. He shifted his weight as he walked, adjusting the position of his club where it rested on his shoulder.

"Yes, Loudwhisper."

"How'd your face get scratched?"

"Er," Redmorning said. He fingered the long mark on his cheek. _They'll have to know. Everyone will. But how do I tell my clan I want to spend the rest of my life with a peon?_

"In point of fact, I believe he means 'by whom,'" Kev'ran said. Redmorning glanced that way and was startled to see her almost smirking.

"I think you're spending too much time around Shel'yin," Veren said, stalling for time.

"Still want to know," Loudwhisper said.

"So do I," Kev'ran said. "Particularly if you have further intention of creeping away from your bodyguards in the middle of the night."

"I thought you were asleep!"

Kev'ran made no answer to this. Redmorning swore under his breath.

"All right. Everyone's going to know, in any case. I was with Nez the Small."

The bodyguards were silent for a moment. Then Loudwhisper said,

"Peon? Real short, like Kev'ran?"

"Thank you for pointing that out, Dib," Kev'ran said dryly. "The same peon who killed three satyrs yesterday, Chieftain?"

"That's the one," Redmorning said.

"One who made Shadebreaker's clothes?" Dib said.

"Yes."

Another ruminative silence followed this.

"Well," Loudwhisper said. "Guess you'll always have nice shirts, then."

"An excellent choice," Kev'ran said. "In a number of ways. We do not wish to be like other clans. It is well that you choose to remind everyone of that."

"I didn't choose her for that reason," Veren said.

"I know," Kev'ran said. "If you had, you would simply be a great Chieftain. As it is, you are also a great Orc."

---

Lev Darksun stumped along in the rear of the column, watching the woods suspiciously. Lacking Kev'ran's senses, he still had some forty years of hard living behind him. He had a feeling someone was watching them.

"Bet it's the stupid lousy satyrs," he muttered. "How'm I gonna get another tunic if I ruin this one? 'M never gonna get the stains out as it is."

A couple of nearby grunts chuckled at this.

"Mebbe you ought to get one made out of satyr hide," one said. "Bet it works as good as deerskin."

"Hmph," Lev said.

"Hey, Ugly," said a familiar voice. Darksun looked up to see Gedu Pouncefaster riding up astride her wolf. She leaned sideways out of the saddle and hooked his helmet as she darted past.

"Give that _back,_" Darksun said. "Demons. We're trying to guard the column here, you skinny little wretch."

"Sorry," Gedu said. She turned the animal and handed the helmet back. Lev settled it on his skull.

"So what're you doing here? And where were you last night?" He did not look at her as he spoke, trying to keep track of the woods around them. _The Clan is first. Always is._

"Sick," Gedu said. "This morning, too." She reined the animal in as it tried to outpace the grunts.

Darksun inspected her closely for just a second, startled. He was a lot older than Gedu. He'd figured it would be fun while it lasted, but… He hadn't expected it to last long. Frankly, he'd expected this to be a brushoff.

"Leg bothering you?" he asked, returning his eyes to the trees. She did look tired and haggard this morning, darker circles under her red eyes.

"Not hardly," Gedu said. "You better start thinking 'bout digging a bigger burrow, we get to where we're going."

"Why?" Lev asked, now thoroughly puzzled.

Gedu rolled her eyes. "'Cause it's gonna have to hold three Orcs, you big idiot," she said. "Or you change your mind 'bout what you told me? Kind of late for that now."

"'Bout what I - ?" Lev stopped as he realized what she must be referring to. Demons. He really _was _an idiot. _Told her I wanted to be a father. _

"Really?" he said.

"Yep," Gedu said. "Went to see the warlocks this morning. They said it's for sure."

Lev Darksun stared up at his very own Orc. He wanted, more than anything, to grab her out of the saddle and kiss her. But the Clan was marching, he was in the rearguard, and his Chieftain was depending on him.

"Later," he said meaningfully.

Gedu grinned her old grin.

"Yeah," she said. And she turned and rode off.


	31. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Glaive ghosted through the trees like a cold wind, choosing carefully where to place her feet. Just ahead was a satyr hellcaller, not nearly as silent or as invisible as he thought he was. The Chieftain had given Glaive very specific instructions not to kill anyone, but that did not mean she couldn't enjoy herself.

She matched pace with the satyr for a while, watching. Glaive wondered idly how long it had taken for the renegade Elves to start growing tails and horns. Who knew? With all the time she was spending around Shadebreaker lately, maybe her hair would go white instead of black. Of course, that would take more time than she would probably live, but it was not Glaive's nature to worry about what wasn't in front of her.

The satyr froze as she pressed her knife into the base of his skull. She was gentle, just barely indenting his thin fur. His tail lashed at her knees. He betrayed no other sign of anxiety.

"I have a message," she said in her own language. "From the Chieftain of the Tattered Banner."

The satyr said something highly unconventional. Glaive grinned.

"I'll let you consider for a moment the fact that we are having this conversation when I could have just killed you," she said. "Or, for that matter, that I could still kill you and have it with one of the others instead."

"What's an Elf doing with a bunch of Orcs?" the satyr said.

"Turn around," Glaive said.

She twirled the knife idly in her fingers as the satyr turned, very carefully. He was about Glaive's height, and his fur was chestnut brown. His ears twitched as he looked at her scars.

"Oh," he said. "So you killed a Sentinel, huh? Good riddance. So what's the Orc want?"

"He said I should tell you we're just passing through," Glaive said. "You leave us alone, we leave you alone. We've got no gold, and hardly anything else worth taking. Oh, and also: if you attack us again, we'll disembowel you and strangle you with your own intestines. I'm paraphrasing, you understand."

"Un huh," the satyr said.

"That's all," Glaive said.

The satyr looked at her suspiciously. "You're not going to kill me?"

"Not right now," Glaive said. She smiled. The satyr backed away and faded into the brush without turning around.

Glaive went back to the caravan. She stepped onto the path near Kev'ran.

"Well?" Veren Redmorning said.

"Told one," Glaive said in Orcish. "Prob'ly tell the others."

"Do you think it will work?"

"Maybe," Glaive said. "Helps that you killed some. Satyrs not too bright, but understand cold steel pretty good."

"Most people do," Veren Redmorning said. "Thank you, Glaive."

"No problem," Glaive said, and slowed down so that she fell behind the Chieftain and his guards. Rokhyel Shadebreaker came quietly between them and the nearest warlocks. It amused Glaive that his gait had settled into one very similar to his manner of walking when he was a skeleton. He glanced at her as she kept pace with him, but said nothing.

"Always keeping track," Glaive said. "Always know where I am, or when I get in trouble. How you know that, Rokhyel?"

Shadebreaker looked at her. His eyes were very green under his hood. The effect was not quite the same as light in empty sockets, but Glaive understood its meaning.

"Not gonna bother me," Glaive said.

"How do you know?" he said.

"'Cause nothing does," she said.

Shadebreaker turned his eyes forward again. He held his notched blade in his left hand as he walked, careful not to strike those in front of him with the point. _He has no sheath for it, _Glaive recognized silently. _I have never seen him willingly let it go._

"When I set the coil on a living creature, a thread forms between me and them," Shadebreaker said. "A conduit. I draw their life through it, and when they die, it breaks. I'm not sure how the medallion was meant to work, but I suspect it set up a stronger thread than the death coil. And since you live still, it has never been broken."

"But you are not drinking my life now," Glaive said, switching to her own tongue. "I would be able to tell."

"I will not take from you against your will," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "But I cannot fail to notice how far the thread stretches, and which way it goes."

"You are not reading my mind," Glaive said.

"No."

"Good," Glaive said.

"I thought nothing bothered you," Shadebreaker said.

"It does not," Glaive said. "But I've had my mind read. The other participant did not consider it a pleasant experience. And I would not willingly relinquish your company, Rokhyel Shadebreaker."

The dead man glanced at her again, eyebrows raised.

"Really?" he said.

Glaive grinned. "I do not recall that I've ever found it necessary to lie."

"Then why?" he said. "There is not much I can give you beyond simple presence. I have purpose, perhaps, or I would not continue. I have but little feeling."

"But I have no purpose," Glaive said. "I continue because I want to see what happens next. You possess what Elves would call a conscience. If I'm to serve the Clan without fatal offense, I may require it. As for feeling… I understand it little. It pleases me to be where you are. That is all I know. It's probably all I can know."

"If that's enough for you, I think we will do well," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said.

Glaive reached an idle hand and brushed the dead man's white hair back over his shoulder. An ignorant observer might take his lack of reaction for rejection. Glaive understood him better than that.

"I think so," she said.

They walked on together, the dead man in his new flesh and the Elf in her old scars. Not far behind them, strapped to the mighty shoulders of Begrin Hardbounder, swung the ragged flag in gray silk.

---

The Tattered Banner marched on.

Days passed. Nights passed. And, to his growing contentment, Veren Redmorning no longer slept alone. Nez the Small had never been happier, though it took her some time to believe that he really intended to keep her for life.

Kev'ran and Shel'yin began to make their own tentative arrangements. They were in part hampered by the unwillingness of either party to strike the other.

Kerd Bladeleaper looked with tolerance on the frequent absence of one of her raiders. It might not improve Lev's temper, but it certainly kept him busy.

Satyrs attacked twice more as the clan marched South. They were repulsed each time, with no casualties on one side and complete annihilation on the other. Things were quieter after that: word like the red Orcs (now increasingly gray) got around.

Perhaps Glaive saw the owl scouts as they flew to and fro, carrying their reports to Mistress Fallingrain. If so, she kept her own council, and viewed them with amused disinterest.

The weather began to grow warmer, and the snow gradually fell behind.

A month or so later, The Tattered Banner Clan stood at the edge of waving grassland, the foothills of the Stonetalons lying behind them. Palm trees dotted the brown landscape to the horizon.

Strange cries fell on Veren Redmorning's ears as he stood on the largest rock he could find, staring out over the new place. Some of the things that wheeled in the open sky were not birds, and some of the beasts that moved through the tall grass were not ones he recognized.

The air was warm at last. The sky overhead was blue, unhidden by trees and unmarred by any wisp of cloud.

He turned to survey his people. They clustered around him, murmuring as they stared around at their strange surroundings. Kerd and Lev and Shel'yin stood expectant, awaiting orders. Toward the back, he saw Nez the Small, now watching him with possessive pride.

"Tattered Banner," Veren Redmorning said.

The Orcs fell silent as all eyes turned to their Chieftain.

_"Welcome home."_

There were only forty-five Orcs present.

Their answering roar made the ground shake.

So you take some red Orcs from a dim red world

And a corpse with a rusty old sword,

And an Elf no one wants with a new broken blade

And an undersized blademaster lord.

You take up this iron and nickel and coal

And toss them all into the flame.

What comes out at the end isn't pretty, it's true.

But you'll find that it's steel, just the same.

THE END


End file.
